Bloodline
by loobeyloo
Summary: Who is Ginny McBride, and why does her sudden appearance at Santini Air seeking out Dominic Santini, throw the old man into a tail spin and set him at such odds with Stringfellow Hawke that it threatens their friendship and their ability to work together?
1. Chapter 1

_Bloodline is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters._

This story is purely a figment of my imagination, and apart from the usual ensemble of characters, borrowed for the occasion from Mr Bellisario and company, any and all resemblance to any real person or place is purely coincidental, accidental and downright bad luck on my part!

_**PROLOGUE:**_

_**Somewhere in California – Late March, 1985.**_

"String?" Dominic Santini's gentle, but concerned voice finally penetrated the dark red haze that had settled over Stringfellow Hawke as his finger gripped the firing nipple on Airwolf's joystick control, like a death grip, releasing almost every round from the chain guns into the target on the ground about sixty feet below them.

The old Army Sherman tank had exploded into a ball of flame several seconds ago, after the first ten rounds of ammunition had found their mark, but still the young pilot kept firing.

"Son," Dominic Santini spoke again, in a soft low voice.

"Ok, Dom," Stringfellow Hawke finally responded, dragging his memory back to the present day, instead of that awful day, just over a year ago, when he had come face to face with Charles Moffett, Airwolf's creator, and the man who had murdered Gabrielle, the woman Hawke had been in love with, in the fierce heat of the Libyan desert.

"We done now?" Santini asked from his position at the engineering console in back of Hawke.

"I guess."

Hawke sighed deeply over the microphone in his helmet as he relaxed his finger and gently applied vertical pressure to the console to allow the sleek, shark like, black and white Mach 1 Super helicopter to effortlessly gain altitude.

"We probably don't have anything left to throw at them. Unless you packed your peashooter," Hawke quipped, trying to make a joke now, more by way of reassuring the older man that he was alright.

That he was back in control.

"Think they'll be impressed?" Santini asked.

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Sure, but then I'm easy to please," Santini chuckled.

"Frankly Dom, I really don't care. We did what Archangel asked. We showed them what this baby can do, the rest is up to him and Marella. Let's get out of here. Gimme turbos."

"Turbos," Santini confirmed, pushing forward the lever on the console before him, that would activate the turbo engines.

"Say String, I don't understand why Archangel needed to put on this little demonstration in the first place," he mused as Airwolf gained altitude swiftly now, and Hawke manoeuvred her back on to the course that would take them back to Airwolf's hiding place.

"Dom, check that we're not being tracked by ground radar," Hawke ground out impatiently.

"Already on it," Santini confirmed, checking various screens and consoles around him in the engineering section. "Did Archangel tell you why they needed the hard sell? I thought the Firm already sold the idea of mass producing this baby to the government and the military."

"That was a while back. Money's tight these days, and she's expensive to produce, Dom. Guess he had to show them what they would be getting for their tax dollars," Hawke sighed.

"Do you think they'll go for it?"

"If they do, Dom, they'll pretty soon put you and me and the Lady out of business."

"Pity."

"Yeah. I kind of like her being one of a kind."

"Me too. Does give us a bit of an edge," Santini chuckled.

"But also puts us at the mercy of Archangel and the Firm. If they go ahead and commission a fleet of these things, we will be surplus to requirements," Hawke pointed out.

"But didn't you tell me that Marella told you once that it's gonna take them more than five years to build a fleet?"

"Not Marella. Gabrielle," Hawke paused for a moment, wondering when he would ever stop feeling that familiar ache in his chest whenever he said her name.

When he would stop hearing that crack in his voice.

When he would stop blaming himself for her death.

For not being there, to save her.

For a while he had even tried to blame himself for her being out there. In Libya. For putting her in danger in the first place, but in his heart he knew that that was not strictly true.

And so he had blamed Archangel instead.

That had worked so much better for him.

In the beginning.

Someone else to focus his anger and his bitterness against.

However, now, some fourteen months, and several missions that had forced the two men to work together very closely, down the line, Hawke had developed a grudging respect for the man in white, and had even begun to believe that Michael Coldsmith Briggs III had felt as much pain and grief and guilt over Gabrielle's death as did he.

"Five point three years to be exact, of taking this baby apart to reverse engineer her," Hawke corrected. "Picking over the bones."

"Philistines."

"My guess is, it would take them about five more years after that to actually get a fleet up and off the ground. By which time, they would all be obsolete anyway," Hawke sighed moodily.

"So why bother? What's the point?"

"Maybe they don't have their hearts set on a whole fleet. Just another couple of these babies held in reserve. We both know what kind of advantage that would give our side in an ass kicking competition with say, the Russians, for instance."

Hawke paused for a moment, before adding.

"Besides, Dom, we've always known that one day we might have to give her back."

"We?"

"_**I**_. Ok? That _**I**_ would have to give her back," Hawke sighed expressively then.

"Yeah. I guess, but it breaks my heart to think of them tearing her apart to see what makes her tick. How would you like it?"

"Mmmmm," Hawke sighed, pulling a sour face, which Santini could not see because he was positioned behind the younger man, but could guess was there on the young man's face from his tone of voice.

Over the years, Dominic Santini had gotten very good at interpreting both Hawke's long and intimidating silences, and his body language. They were a whole new language of their own, but Santini was now an expert. He understood every look, every shrug of the shoulders, every sigh, every penetrating glare and scowl.

"And it will mean that you won't be able to put the hard word on Archangel any more. About St John."

St John Hawke, Stringfellow's older brother, missing in action in Vietnam since 1969.

His younger brother had made a deal with Michael Coldsmith Briggs III, code name Archangel, Deputy Head of Special Projects for a covert government agency called the Firm, that in return for repatriating Airwolf, after Moffett stole her and tried to sell her to the Libyans, he would fly Airwolf on occasional missions for the government, in return for information on the current whereabouts of his brother.

Thus far, Hawke had kept his side of the bargain, but he had received very little in the way of concrete evidence of his older brother's, fate from Archangel.

"Then I'll just have to find some other way to find out if he is alive, where he is."

"String?"

"I know you think he's dead, Dom," String sighed deeply now. "But, I can't make myself believe it. All I'm asking for is some kind of definitive proof. Either that he is alive some place, or that he really is dead. I want my brother back, one way or another, Dom. Preferably alive and well, but if not, I'd at least like to have his body back. To bury, alongside our parents. Then I'll know that he is safe. That he is where he belongs, resting peacefully."

_**And then maybe so could he**_**.** Hawke added silently to himself.

"You think Archangel is holding out on you?" Santini asked now.

"What do you think?" Hawke sighed deeply again. "I wouldn't put it past him. After all, it suits his purpose to keep me dangling, and to have us, and Airwolf at his beck and call. Look at today."

"At least we're not getting our asses shot at by MiGs this time. We've been to Russia so many times lately, I'm beginning to develop a taste for vodka and Borscht," Santini chuckled. "Indeed, it's a close second in line to my favourite vacation spot. Top of the list, East Germany, for the beer, Sauerkraut and Bratwurst!"

"Do you ever think of anything except your stomach?" Hawke grouched.

"Yeah."

"Oh?"

"Never you mind."

"Oh? Now who's being tight lipped and secretive? What's her name, Dom?"

"Mind your own bees wax," Santini chuckled, although he did not deny that he had indeed met a new lady.

It was early days yet and he did not want to spoil things by saying too much too soon.

"Don't you concern yourself over my love life, String. Concentrate on your own. What about you and Cait?"

"What about me and Cait, Dom?" String demanded quickly, a frown marring his handsome chiselled features now. "Dom, there is no _**me,**__**and**__**Cait**_**.**" Hawke emphasised his words slowly now so that Santini would fully understand. "If you hadn't noticed, Dominic, she's far too occupied with her acting career, and all those hunky stuntmen she keeps tripping over every time she goes to the studio."

"Jealous?"

"No," Hawke replied succinctly.

"Me thinks the man doth protest too much," Santini chuckled.

"Dom, there is _**nothing**_between me and Cait. Get it into your head, will you. We like each other and we work well together, but, that's all."

"In a pig's eye."

"No, Dom, I mean it. There's nothing between us. No chemistry. No spark. I think of her more like a sister than anything else. So quit trying to throw the two of us together. It isn't going to happen, Dominic, no matter how much _**you**_might like the idea."

"Does Cait feel the same way?"

"I haven't exactly asked her," String sighed now. "But, she's not exactly eating her heart out over me, is she?" he reasoned. "She's seeing some guy called Roger right now, and seems perfectly happy with him."

Hawke hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should say what was on his mind, knowing that he might just be giving the older man even more ammunition for his pleasant day dreams, that his two young friends might just get together and live happily ever after.

No matter how much he hated to burst the old guy's bubble. It needed to be said.

It just wasn't going to happen.

"Look, I'll admit that when we first ran into her, there was something there," Hawke confided, knowing that his old friend had been along on that particular ride and had seen for himself the instant attraction that had flared between Hawke and the feisty redheaded Texan beauty.

"But," he added quickly. "Well, nothing ever came of it, Dominic. And with the way things have been going lately, with the three of us flying missions in the Lady, maybe that's not such a bad thing," He reminded now.

"I guess we care about each other and yes, it's nice that we watch each other's backs. Like brother and sister. I'd trust her with my life in a tight spot, Dominic, but if other emotions were involved, I'm not so sure that I could do what needed to be done to stay alive. To keep us _**all**_alive," he pointed out, recalling how it had felt to find Gabrielle as she lay dying in the heat of the desert.

No, he couldn't face that again.

Couldn't face the idea of perhaps having to hold on to Caitlin, as the life drained out of her body.

It was hard enough to reconcile himself to the idea that one day, his dear old friend and mentor, Dominic Santini, might end up getting hurt or even killed while they were flying an Airwolf mission.

But, there was no way Hawke could face putting another woman that he loved in the line of fire.

"It's better this way, Dom. If I was really in love with Cait, it would make it very difficult for me to work with her on missions, and we both know that we need her help, from time to time."

"Yeah," Santini sighed, seeing the sense in what his young friend was saying, but Hawke could still hear the disappointment in the older man's voice.

"And your constantly trying to match make us just makes Cait uncomfortable, Dom. I know _**you**_think we're a match made in heaven. But, the simple truth is, there's nothing romantic going on between us, and there never will be."

"Just friends, huh?"

"Yeah. Just friends."

"We'll see."

"Dom …."

"They do say that love is blind. But it is my experience that there are none so blind, as those who _**will not**_ see," Santini intoned sagely.

"You get that out of a fortune cookie?" Hawke drawled now and let out a deep sigh of exasperation.

"Never you mind."

"Dominic, take your own advice will you. Please. Concentrate on your own love life and don't concern yourself over mine."

"My concern is, that _**you**_don't have one, String," Santini sighed softly then. "And even you need a little love in your life, son. Keep ya from going crazy."

"Thank you doctor Freud," Hawke growled now. "You wanna tell me what you see on your scopes?"

He changed the subject now, knowing that he was banging his head against a familiar brick wall, and that no matter what he said, Dominic Santini would not be budged from his romantic notions about his young friend and Caitlin O'Shannessy.

_**You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink!.**_Hawke thought in exasperation.

_**Stubborn old coot.**_

"Dom?" he prompted again, all businesslike now and hoped that the old geezer in back would take the hint. "Scopes?"

"Yeah, yeah I read ya. A whole heap of nothing."

"Ground radar?"

"Not a chance. We're almost on the deck as it is, but we're absorbing 95 of scans. How's it looking up there?"

"Main engine seems to be running a little hot," Hawke informed, checking the rows of gauges before him, relieved that Santini had returned his concentration to the matter at hand.

"How bad?"

"Not much, but she does seem a little rougher than usual. We'll have to take a closer look at that when we get back. About time we scheduled a maintenance check, and we'll have to spend time replacing the weapons."

"Oh joy. Just what I always wanted. Two days working my fingers to the bone in a cold, dark cave, with you."

"And your favourite Lady," Hawke quipped now.

"That's the only consolation. Never mind baby, Dom will soon find out what's ailing you," Santini cooed and Hawke rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation.

"What about your other lady?"

"Well, she's nice an' all, but there's no competition. This little lady wins hands down every time," Santini sighed contentedly.

"Dom, sometimes I worry about you."

"Then that makes us even, kid, because sometimes, I worry about you too. Sometimes, I think you're just a little too cold hearted for your own good. I know you think I'm a crazy old man for feeling the way I do about this, machine, but, if I can care so much for a bunch of nuts and bolts, and wires and stuff, think how much more I can care for a comely flesh and blood lady of the female persuasion? You should try it some time. You might just surprise yourself."

_**And now they were back to square one again! **_Hawke thought to himself with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"So," he let out a deep sigh. "She's comely then, this new lady of yours?"

"I'll say!" Santini chuckled.

"I'm happy for you, Dom. I hope it works out for you," and now Hawke was being sincere.

The older man had been on his own for far too long, and it was way past time that he found a nice lady to share his life with.

Hawke really was glad that he had found someone special at last.

"Thanks, kid."

"Now, how about scanning around the lair to make sure we don't have any unexpected visitors when we get home?"

"Sure thing, kid. Sure thing."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Santini Air Hangar, Van Nuys Airfield, California. – Early April 1985.**_

"Say String, you won't forget to order that lubricating oil, or the new carburettor for that Gypsy Moth."

"Dom, will ya get outta here."

Stringfellow Hawke sighed deeply, setting the pile of bills and receipts and quotes and manifests fluttering on the desk before him.

He had the telephone receiver jammed between his chin and his shoulder, forced to listen to an electronic version of Handel's Water Music, as he had been put on hold by the aviation fuel supplier he had been calling to query this months' exorbitant bill, and he was running out of patience.

The last thing he needed was Dominic Santini adding to his woes.

The old man was like a dog with fleas, hyperactive and unable to concentrate or keep still for more than a couple of minutes at a time, and it was irritating the hell out of his young colleague.

"Don't want to keep the lady waiting," Hawke hinted now, on another deep sigh of exasperation.

Dominic Santini had a dinner date with his nice lady. The one that he had bumped into, quite literally, in the bank, a couple of weeks before, and had planned to take her dancing afterward, but he was as nervous as a teenager on his first date, and clumsy with it, having tipped half a can of precious lube oil over himself and Hawke just before lunch.

Some other time, Hawke might have found it amusing, but his own mood today was sour and down right evil, after his own date had failed to show for their dinner date the previous evening.

"Something wrong?" Dominic Santini picked up on something in the younger man's tone of voice now and frowned at him.

"Nooooo," String sighed again.

"Gettin' on your nerves, huh?"

"As if?"

"Sorry. But …."

"I know, Dom. You really like Nancy, and you want to make a good impression."

"Yeah."

"Well just be your self, Dominic. You can't fail to impress the lady, after all, what's not to like?"

"Are you taking the …."

"No Dom, I'm serious," Hawke cut his friend off in mid sentence. "Just relax," he advised. "How many times have you two been out now? Two? Three?" he arched an eyebrow in enquiry.

"Three," Santini confirmed.

"So what are you worried about? If the lady didn't want to see you again, you'd know about it by now."

"Yeah."

"You like her, she likes you. You have a good time when you're together?" Again Santini nodded. "So why are you so worried?"

"Hey, I'm sorry about Judy not showing up last night."

Hawke gave a shrug, meant to convey to the older man that it was unimportant, no big deal, but Dominic knew that Hawke had been quite taken with Judith Monroe, a sweet young actress he had met whilst they had been working on an aerial stunt for a new TV cop show.

"Guess she just got a better offer," Hawke mumbled. "Easy come, easy go," he shrugged again. "But we were talking about _**you**_ and Nancy," he reminded. "She's a nice lady, and you're a nice guy, you like each other and you enjoy each other's company. So, just take each day as it comes and enjoy it, Dominic. No pressure, no expectations. Don't make it more complicated than it is. Just have a little fun and be happy."

"Good advice, kid. So why don't _**you**_take it?"

"It's not like I don't try, Dom!" Hawke scowled then. "Maybe it just isn't meant to happen for me."

"Bulldust." Santini scoffed. "You'll find the right lady, some day, but you've got to be ready to accept it, String. You've got to be ready to allow yourself to be happy and to love someone again. That business with Gabrielle, was a long time ago now, String."

Santini saw the warning look settle on his young friend's face, and bit his tongue.

"I guess maybe Judy just came to realise that you haven't gotten to that point in your life yet," He faltered.

"And she bailed out before I could hurt her."

"Maybe?" Santini sighed.

"Gee, thanks, Dom," Hawke gave him a sour look then.

"And maybe _**you**_got lucky and she bailed out before _**she**_could hurt _you_? Maybe she just wasn't the right girl for you?" Dominic amended quickly. "You'll know when you find her, String. If she's the right one for you, you'll know it," he assured. "But until you do, there ain't no harm in having a little fun."

Hawke nodded then and sighed softly.

"I think they put me on hold and then moved to Australia," he indicated to the telephone receiver, changing the subject now.

"The fuel supplier?"

"Yeah," Hawke confirmed.

"Bandits!" Santini growled. "If they keep upping their prices, they'll put us out of business," he commented wryly.

"Gotta be a mistake, Dom," Hawke assured. "Got the decimal point in the wrong place."

"But in the meantime, it's costing us money to chase them up over the telephone. You hanging on the line there, running up my telephone bill, and while you're doing that, you're not flying or doing maintenance."

"Things aren't that bad, are they Dom?" String frowned now, wondering if his old friend was struggling financially and had not wanted to let on.

"Nah," Santini waved his hand at his young friend. "We're good," he assured. "Honest," he added at Hawke's sceptical look. "We got plenty of business on the books, to keep us both occupied and the bucks keep rolling in."

"But they have a habit of rolling out again just as quickly. Especially now that there are three of us," Hawke sighed deeply. "Look, Dom, if you need help. You only have to ask," he offered.

"Just get those guys to admit that they made a mistake with the fuel bill, and I'll be happy. Now, its time I wasn't here," Santini grinned then, silently wishing that his young friend could feel some of the joy and excitement he was presently feeling, at the thought of seeing Nancy Fitzgerald again in just a few hours time.

Her arrival in his life had been something of a surprise, but a pleasant one, and an opportunity that Dominic Santini had been determined that he was not going to miss out on.

He could not help hoping that something similar might happen to his young friend.

Stringfellow Hawke would be the first to admit that he had been somewhat unlucky in love, but, in Dominic Santini's opinion, that didn't mean that he should close his mind and his heart to the possibility.

Dominic Santini's main worry was that one day, Miss Right would walk into Stringfellow Hawke's life, and he would be too blinded by his belief that he was jinxed, and not meant to find happiness in love, to recognise her.

Or, maybe just the opposite.

He might fall too deeply and too quickly for the wrong girl.

And end up getting hurt again.

However, at this point in time, Santini thought to himself, even that option was better than the endless, loveless limbo he had chosen for himself.

Hawke was a young man, attractive, intelligent and charming. He had a lot to offer any woman.

If, he would just accept that and allow himself to take a chance.

"When Cait gets back will you remind her that we have to be over at Universal studios at 5.30 tomorrow morning."

Caitlin O'Shannessy, the fiery tempered, red headed, former Texas Highway Patrol officer who had recently joined their ranks at Santini Air, was currently giving a flying lesson to a new client in the Cessna.

And Dominic Santini still harboured a small hope that she and Hawke would open their eyes and see what was going on right under their noses.

That they cared for each other, and not just in the purely platonic way that String had tried to convince him recently, was all that there was between them.

They were perfect for each other.

If only they would just stop and take a good look.

Still, he was just an old guy. What did he know about the young and silly things like being in love?

The Santini Air team were scheduled to set up a stunt for a TV movie and Dominic had received an early call notice from the Production office requesting their appearance on set at 7.00am.

Everything was already set up, so the team would just require time to get into costume and make up, and then do the obligatory safety checks on the aircraft that they were going to use in the stunt.

"String?" Santini prompted when Hawke did not reply. "Cait? The stunt tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Sure thing, Dom, 5.30am at Universal, right?" Hawke mumbled, almost dropping the telephone receiver as he finally heard a human voice in his ear now, instead of the tinny sounding music.

"Yeah, I was holding for the billing department," he explained into the telephone receiver. "What, hey, wait! No! Don't put me on hold again! Dammit, do you believe that, they put me on hold again!" he raged.

"Have fun, kid," Dominic Santini grinned at the pained expression on his companion's face, as more electronic classical music wafted down the telephone receiver into his ear.

"You too, Dom."

"See ya in the morning."

"Maybe, if I ever get off this damned telephone!"

"You'd better, kid! I'm not payin' ya to sit around with your feet up on the desk!"

Stringfellow Hawke let out a deep sigh of exasperation and smiled sarcastically at Dominic Santini's receding back, as the older man headed out of the office and out of the hangar to the jeep parked on the tarmac.

"Pay me, Dom? Is that what you call it? I thought it was a charitable donation," he snarled. "Yeah!" he snapped into the telephone receiver now, as another voice suddenly replaced the tinny music in his ear. "Yeah, this is Stringfellow Hawke, over at Santini Air, you guys suddenly develop a sense of humour, or somethin' 'cos this bill for aviation fuel is a joke!"

"Hi String," Caitlin O'Shannessy greeted her colleague cheerfully as she sauntered into the Santini Air office, after her lesson with the novice in the Cessna, but the smile slid quickly from her face as she noted the sour expression on the young man's face.

"Oh boy, whose bed did you get out on the wrong side of this morning?" She quipped.

"My own," Hawke snarled, a pained expression on his handsome, chiselled features.

"Figures," Caitlin sighed and then smiled toothily to take the sting out of her words. "I heard about Judy."

"Drop it, Cait."

"Consider it well and truly dropped!"

Caitlin sighed, plonking herself down on the desk beside him, and he scowled up at her.

"She has a reputation, you know, for dropping guys like hot cakes when someone else takes her fancy," she told him, picking up the aviation fuel bill he had been trying to sort out for most of the afternoon.

"Well, gee, no. Actually, I didn't know. Nobody thought to tell me," Hawke grumbled sarcastically, watching her expression change, as she read the invoice.

"Bit steep," she whistled through her teeth when she saw the bottom line figure.

"I know. I've just spent the best part of an hour wrangling with them. Would have had more joy trying to wrestle a rhino!"

"They never make mistakes."

Stringfellow Hawke looked at her with a somewhat startled expression.

"How do you know that that's what they said?"

"Because I dealt with them last month," She sighed. "Where have you been Hawke?" she pinned him with a curious grey stare then, and he shrugged.

"Dom went ballistic when he saw last month's bill. I called and they said it could not possibly be a mistake, they _**never**_ make mistakes, but eventually, after three days of calling, I finally reached a guy in their accounts department who said that their computer was on the Fritz. New equipment, new programme. Guess they haven't worked out the kinks yet."

"That's what they just told me too," Hawke sighed deeply now. "Look, I've just about had it with this place today. Wanna go out for a beer?" he invited hopefully.

Looking at her now, dressed in a stylish baby blue pants suit, red hair slightly tousled, cheeks delicately flushed and pretty grey eyes sparkling with humour and exhilaration, Hawke decided that a little rest and relaxation was in order, and who better to share it with than his colleague. They could go to O'Malley's, shoot the breeze and maybe shoot a little pool too.

"Oh String, I'd have loved to," However the look on her face told him that she had made other plans.

Hawke cursed himself silently.

He should have known better than to ask.

He knew that she was involved with Roger Clements, a stuntman they had worked with recently.

_**No competition.**_ Hawke thought sardonically to himself.

No way he could measure up to Roger's six feet three inch, tanned, muscular physique, and his dazzling white smile.

However, his best attribute was that he was a genuinely nice guy.

And he seemed to make Cait happy.

_**Really**_ happy.

She deserved happiness.

And Hawke would be the first to acknowledge that he simply did not think that he was capable of making any woman happy.

Even Cait, with all that they had in common and had shared recently.

He was too mean and stubborn and 'ornery.

Not to mention his propensity for changeable black moods, and his frequent habit of keeping his thoughts and his feelings to himself.

"But?" he prompted, arching an eyebrow quizzically.

"But, I made arrangements to have dinner with Roger. I guess you could join us," she added quickly, as an after thought. "If, you don't have any other plans?"

"I'll pass, but thanks anyway. I never did like playing gooseberry."

"You wouldn't be that, Hawke," she assured.

"You're sweet, Caitlin, but we both know that two's company and three's a crowd," Hawke drawled and was rewarded with an exasperated look. "It's ok, Cait," he told her quickly then, not wanting her to feel bad. "We can do it some other time. It's no big deal."

"What about Dom?"

"He has a hot date with Nancy," he told her, forcing a smile then. "He's been driving me crazy all day. Love's young dream," he quipped and Cait chuckled then.

"It's good to see him so happy."

"Yeah."

"You know, Hawke, there are plenty of girls out there who would be proud and honoured to be your date."

"I don't see them beating a path to my door," he drawled sardonically.

"That's because you walk around with your damned eyes closed!" she snapped in irritation, her cute Texan accent even more pronounced.

"Or else you just don't _**want**_to see. Maybe because you just don't want to have to deal with your emotions? Look at me, Mr Macho, I don't need love and affection in my life," she railed.

"Cait," Hawke's tone held a definite warning now, but Caitlin blithely continued.

"Well believe me, mister, no one is immune. Not even you, Hawke."

"Cait."

"Wake up and smell the coffee String, or else one of these days you'll wake up and find that you're a very lonely old man."

"Gee, Cait, you really know how to make a guy feel good about himself."

"Well, darn it, Hawke, you're as likeable and loveable as the next guy," she told him, blushing very becomingly then.

"But you just seem hell bent on trying to make yourself as damned unattractive and dislikeable as you can," she was in full flow now, and Hawke had to admit that she really was a magnificent creature when she was riled.

"You put on this hard man act, and hide behind your scowling mask. You act tough, and you bristle and snarl, and use that rapier tongue of yours. No wonder the ladies can't be bothered with you. You send out mixed signals. You can be charming and endearing and likeable one minute, but as soon as the lady shows any real interest, you turn cold on her. Freeze her out. You do it on purpose. Hell, flyboy, you did it to me, and let me tell you, it's worse than a slap in the face. Why do you do that?"

Hawke opened his mouth to give her an answer, but she carried on regardless, fully prepared to answer her own question.

"I'll tell you why. It's a defence mechanism. You're afraid that you will get hurt again. That if you love someone, they'll leave you, or die."

"Dammit, Cait, that's enough!" Hawke snarled.

"Yeah, I guess, but, it's still the truth," she slid off the desk then, unmoved by his anger, and walked toward the office door. However, before opening the door she turned back to face him.

"Ya know something, Hawke, you're not a jinx. You just like to hide behind that notion, because it's easier _not _to have to deal with it. You automatically assume that any woman you like will either reject you, or leave you, so you reject them first. Leave them, emotionally. As soon as they start to get too close. You shut yourself away and get cold and distant and turned in on yourself," she drew in a breath then.

"You're a nice guy, Hawke and yes, you've been unlucky, but that's no reason to give up, and lock your heart away in stone. You're not responsible for all the bad things that have happened in your life. None of them were your fault. So you have to let them go. You have to learn to like yourself. Learn to love yourself. 'Cos if you don't, String, you'll never believe that anyone else can either."

"I thought you wanted to be an actress, not a shrink?"

"You know I'm right, Hawke," she ignored the barb.

"Cait …. I …."

"Save it, Hawke. You actually did me a favour. I like you, hell yes, I even care about you, but, it wouldn't have worked for us. It would have been way too complicated, and intense. Things are fine just the way they are."

"Tell that to Dominic."

"I do. Daily," she smiled softly then.

"Me too. Might as well talk to that wall, over there."

"Tell me about it!" the smile grew into a grin then.

"Cait, I'm sorry."

"I'm not," she smiled gently at him then. "I got myself a damned good friend. That's much more important to me, Hawke. It would never have worked between us, and when we were done hurting each other, I would have had to look for another job, maybe even leave town. Head back to Texas."

"How do you know we would have ended up hurting each other?" he frowned at her now, surprised that she had actually given it more than a passing thought.

"Because that kind of attraction …. It never lasts. I've seen it before. Burns its self out in record time."

"I guess."

"I've seen it happen to other people too many times, Hawke. Friends of mine. Good people. Fell in love, hard and fast, nd then fell out again just as quickly, ended up hurting each other, hating each other. I'm glad that didn't happen to us."

"Me too."

"I like it here. I like what I'm doing here, Hawke, and I count myself lucky to have some very good friends here. Including you, and Dominic."

"We like you too, Cait. Most of the time," he chuckled at the outraged look on her face then. "Get outta here! Wouldn't want to keep Roger waiting for his dinner now, would you?"

"Just you think about what I said, Hawke. I'm still trying to figure out exactly what it is you think you did wrong? But whatever it is, you've got to let it go, and forgive yourself. You're a good man, Stringfellow Hawke, and you will make a fine catch for some lady, some day."

"Get outta here!"

"G'night. Don't stay too late," she smiled softly at him as she reached out to open the office door now. "Paperwork will still be here in the morning."

"Yeah," he sighed softly. "Night, Caitlin. Have a nice dinner."

Stringfellow Hawke let out a soft sigh of resignation as he watched the pristine, white limousine glide to a stop on the tarmac outside the Santini Air hangar.

He had been expecting to hear from Archangel after Airwolf's demonstration the other day, but he had not expected the government agent to show up here.

Another five minutes and Archangel would have found the hangar deserted.

The three Santini Air pilots had concluded their stunt work over at Universal studios just after lunch, and returned to the hangar to finish up the routine maintenance work that was outstanding on a couple of projects, and to fulfil their commitment to flying lessons for a couple of regular clients.

Cait had taken her newest client up for his second lesson in the Cessna, and after signing a few cheques and grouching over the rising cost of running a business, Dominic had left early to go to the bank and the post office, leaving Hawke to get to grips with taking apart the engine of a Hughes helicopter.

Cait had returned to the office briefly, after her lesson and after a quick cup of coffee and a chat, reviewing their part in the stunt work that morning, she had left the office for the day, a little over ten minutes ago.

A few more minutes and Hawke himself would have finished washing up and closing the place up for the night.

Hawke let out another sigh as he watched the rear door of the limo open, and Archangel climb slowly and somewhat stiffly and painfully out of the backseat, surmising to himself that the older man's game leg was obviously causing him some discomfort.

"Hawke," Archangel greeted him pleasantly as he limped deeper into the hangar and Hawke was surprised to see that he was alone. No Marella tagging along.

"Hi, Michael. You only just caught me."

"Santini going soft in his old age and cutting you loose early?"

"Somethin' like that," Hawke drawled.

"Well, I won't keep you. I was in the neighbourhood, so I thought I'd just drop by and say thanks for the other day."

"Did it help?"

"That would be classified," Archangel grinned, tapping the side of his nose knowingly, but the twinkle in his good right eye spoke volumes about his satisfaction, and told Hawke better than any words ever could that the negotiations had indeed gone well. "But …."

"I'm glad you're pleased, Michael," Hawke drawled, realising what it could mean to himself and Dominic and Airwolf herself.

"Don't worry Hawke, it doesn't mean that you'll be out of a job. Just yet."

"Gee, Michael, thanks for the reassurance."

"All good things have to come to an end. Eventually."

"Yeah. I guess you can have too much of a good thing," Hawke scowled now. "If we're done talking in clichés here, and you don't have anything new to tell me about my brother?" he arched an eyebrow in enquiry.

"I don't," Archangel confirmed regretfully.

"Then I don't think we have anything else to say, Michael."

"I wouldn't want to keep you from the exciting evening you obviously have planned," Archangel gave him a penetrating look, suspecting that he knew exactly what Hawke had planned.

A nice cosy evening in by the fire, with a good book, a glass of brandy, cello music playing softly in the background and Tet, stretched out drowsily at his feet.

Archangel limped painfully back to the limousine and opened the back door, then leaned heavily against it, as he turned back to face Hawke.

"I'll be in touch."

"I can hardly wait."

"Give my regards to Dominic and Cait," and with that, Archangel slid into the rear of the car, pulled the door closed behind him, and the limousine pulled silently away, leaving Hawke standing in the open hangar doorway scratching his head and a frown marring his handsome, chiselled features, as he tried to work out what in the hell all that had _**really**_been about.

Still distracted, some ten minutes after Archangel's departure, wondering if he was reading too much into the government agent's visit, as he tidied away tools and used coffee mugs, and switched off the hot plate, as he finally emerged from the locker room out back, dressed in his street clothes, jeans, pale pink shirt under a dusky red sweater, sneakers and his brown leather windbreak to keep out the evening chill, Hawke was surprised to find that he had another visitor, lurking in the open hangar doorway.

This time the visitor was a stranger.

A young woman.

In the long shadows of the twilight it was hard to determine her exact age, but Hawke guessed that it was somewhere near to his own, mid thirties, or maybe just a little younger.

She stood about five feet four inches tall, with shoulder length light brown hair, slender, and clad in denim blue jeans and sneakers and a soft blue bomber jacket, hands buried deeply in the pockets to protect them from the evening chill.

She stood perfectly still in the open hangar doorway, regarding him with dark eyes, the colour indiscernible to him in the failing light, but the look that suddenly settled on her pretty face told of her, disappointment.

Obviously, Hawke realised immediately, she hadn't come here looking for him.

"Mr Santini?" she spoke at last, her voice low and deep and barely audible as she stepped deeper into the hangar and further into the light.

"Sorry, he's left for the day. Can I help you?" Hawke asked politely, shocked by her pallor and the dark circles he could clearly see beneath eyes he could also clearly see were deep blue now.

"Perhaps," she faltered then, swaying slightly, and instinctively Hawke moved quickly toward her, reaching out with gentle hands to steady her as she closed her eyes briefly and drew in a deep, ragged breath.

"Are you all right?"

_**Dumb question!**_ Hawke told himself, regarding her in alarm as she seemed to grow even paler.

"No," she smiled weakly at him as she opened her eyes.

"Would you like a glass of water?" Hawke offered, however she did not have a chance to answer his question, as she swayed alarming once more and would have fallen to the ground if Hawke had not made a grab for her, as her legs suddenly gave way beneath her and she fainted dead away.

Anxious and puzzled all at the same time, reflexively, Hawke scooped the insensate young woman up into his arms.

She was very small and light, giving him no trouble as he carried her quickly and carefully through the hangar, and out to the store room out back, where Dominic kept three cots, just in case they ever needed to spend the night in the hangar.

It happened occasionally, when they had night shoot stunt work or very early calls to the studios.

Hawke carefully laid the young woman down on the nearest cot, noting her sickly pallor, and her slightly blue tinged lips as he did so, and then not knowing what else to do, for he had no real medical training, he sat down carefully on the edge of the cot beside her, and with uncertain fingers reached out and loosened her bomber jacket to reveal a pretty darker blue blouse beneath, the buttons done up all the way to the collar.

With fumbling fingers he opened the top two buttons, hoping as he did so that loosening her clothes would give her more air, then he patted her hand gently and stroked her soft, cool, left cheek with his work roughened index finger, until her eyes began to flutter and finally opened.

After blinking rapidly several times, she finally focused on his face, regarding him with a curious, questioning frown.

She tried to sit up then, but Hawke stilled her with a hand to her shoulder.

"Take it easy. Give your self a minute," he advised in a soft voice.

"Where am I?"

"Van Nuys Airport. Santini Air."

"Oh. Yes. What happened?" she asked in a soft voice, her eyes moving quickly around, taking in her surroundings.

"You fainted."

"Oh," she lay back against the cot and closed her eyes with a deep sigh. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I don't usually have that affect on people," Hawke quipped, to hide his embarrassment and concern, rising slowly from his perch on the side of the cot, pleased to see a weak smile slowly forming on her lips.

"You mean strange women don't come wandering in here and faint at your feet all the time?" the smile began to grow into a grin now.

"Hardly ever," Hawke smiled softly back at her, liking her sense of humour. "I'll get you that glass of water now."

"Actually, if it's not any trouble, I'd prefer coffee. With lots of sugar and milk. If that's all right?" she smiled at him hopefully. "I need something to put my blood sugar back up."

"You're diabetic?" Hawke asked with a concerned look on his face.

"Not exactly," She grew coy, and did not elaborate, then, noting his anxious expression added. "Been a long day and I forgot to eat lunch," she finally offered by way of an explanation for her sudden malaise.

"I won't be a minute. I'll, er, I'll just go check to see if the pot's still hot," he waved toward the hangar.

"Thank you, Mr?"

"Hawke."

"Thank you, Mr Hawke."

"And you are?"

"Very grateful for your kindness," she smiled at him with obvious gratitude. "My name is Ginny McBride."

She introduced herself with a weak smile, then lay back against the rumpled pillow and closed her eyes briefly, obviously still feeling a little unwell.

"Should I call a doctor?"

"No," she responded quickly, but did not open her eyes, her delicate fingers coming up to gently massage a spot on her forehead over her right eyebrow.

"Thank you, but no. I'll be all right in a minute or two," she assured him then. "Coffee's all I need," she reminded him gently then, and Hawke let out a soft sigh.

"I won't be long."

"Thanks."

True to his word, Hawke returned a few minutes later with a large dark green mug of tepid coffee, the dregs from the bottom of the pot which sat on the hotplate which he had switched off a little while ago, into which he had spooned a considerable amount of powdered milk and heaped in several spoons of sugar.

He watched as she sat up, gingerly at first, until she was sure that the world around her was stable once again, and then he handed her the mug with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry it took so long. We mostly take it pretty much as it comes around here. Took me a while to find the milk and sugar," Hawke felt the need to explain his prolonged absence. "It's not the best cup of coffee I ever made."

He gave her an apologetic look, as she took the mug of what looked like old, dirty dish water from him with slightly shaking fingers.

"It is fine," she assured, and took a sip, and Hawke watched her expression as she fought not to let her disgust show on her face.

"It's awful," he sighed, reaching out to try to take the mug back from her, but she pulled away from him, carefully, and took another gulp of the foul, lukewarm liquid.

"No, it's perfect," she lied, charmingly, after she swallowed it down, Hawke thought to himself, and realised that he was beginning to like her. "It's just that I usually take it as it comes too. Black," she smiled then. "But right now, it's exactly what I need," she added, taking another gulp, and Hawke shrugged non chalontly.

Hawke watched her sip her coffee in silence for several minutes, watching as little spots of colour returned to her cheeks now, and she became more alert, looking around at her surroundings with more interest.

"Feeling better?" He asked at last, taking the half empty mug from her when she began to look around for somewhere to set it down, obviously having had enough of the disgusting brew.

"Thank you, yes."

"Feel up to telling me what brought you here?" he asked softly, regarding her with curious deep blue eyes.

"I'm looking for a man called Dominic Santini."

"So I gathered."

"And I could tell immediately that you were not him."

"Oh?"

"Too young," she smiled softly then. "I'm pretty sure that the man I'm looking for would be much older than you are."

"He is," he confirmed with a wry smile then. "Maybe I could give him a message?" Hawke offered helpfully.

"Perhaps," she grew thoughtful then, a little pensive, Hawke thought to himself, as he watched her carefully, wondering what it was that she could possibly want with Dominic Santini, and hoping that it would not spell trouble for his old friend.

"I'll be seeing him tomorrow," Hawke prompted, when she had been silent for several minutes.

"You're very kind, and I do appreciate the offer, but, I guess I really need to see him. In person," she seemed reluctant to say too much. "You see, he doesn't exactly know me," she added as an after thought. "But, you could tell me when I might find him here?"

"He's here most days. Gets in early. Should I tell him that you'll be stopping by again?"

"Yes."

"Ok," Hawke wondered what all the mystery was about, but stopped himself from asking.

It was nothing to do with him.

However, he could not help being intrigued.

And he just found himself hoping that she wasn't here to impart bad news.

That his old friend wasn't about to be hurt, by this young woman.

"Sure there's no message?"

"No. But thanks. I'd better be going," she rose slowly from the cot and immediately wobbled alarmingly, and again Hawke found himself reaching out to steady her.

"I don't think you should be going anywhere," Hawke commented wryly.

"Well I can't stay here all night," she pointed out.

"Then at least let me drive you home. How did you get here?" he wondered out loud now, unable to recall having heard a car draw up outside the hangar.

"I took a cab to the front gate, and then walked."

"Then that settles it. The jeep's right outside, I'll just go get the keys from the office."

And with that Hawke walked briskly out of the store room, not allowing her time to protest any further.

When he returned a few minutes later it was to find her sitting on the edge of the cot, eyes closed, her fingers again working at her forehead, easing the discomfort which had settled over her right eye, but when she heard his advancing footsteps, she opened her eyes and smiled softly up at him.

"Thank you. For this."

"I never could ignore a damsel in distress," he smiled back. "Say, I know we only just met and all, but would you let me buy you dinner?"

"Do you feel the need to feed all your damsels in distress?"

"You gotta eat, don't you?" she nodded gently. "So do I. I know this really good place, not far from here. We can sit quietly, eat our dinner and get to know each other a little better, and then, I'll take you home."

"Well," she captured her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it thoughtfully.

"That coffee isn't going to keep your blood sugar levels up for very long," he reasoned, but could see that she was still uncertain.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight, until I'm sure you're not going to faint again," he told her defiantly now.

"Well," she faltered now, dropping her gaze from his earnest, handsome face.

She was flattered that he was so thoughtful, and so concerned over her welfare, after all, they were complete strangers.

And, he seemed like a nice guy.

A really nice guy.

There was something so reassuring and so pleasing about him.

About his manner.

She instinctively knew that he was a gentleman, and that she would be safe with him.

Besides, he wasn't bad looking either.

He had a nice smile.

He had demonstrated thoughtfulness, consideration and humour, as well as charm and good manners.

So why not accept his kind invitation?

What did she have to lose?

While they were getting to know each other a little better, as he had suggested, she might be able to find out a little more about Dominic Santini from him.

He was right. She did have to eat.

Why not allow him to continue with his Sir Galahad act?

If it meant she got a little closer to her goal?

To learning more about Dominic Santini.

"If you put it like that."

"Is that a yes, Ms McBride?"

"It's _**Miss**_ McBride," she corrected him, watching as his gaze automatically drifted to the third finger of her left hand, for confirmation that she did not wear a wedding band there.

Also noticing his smile, as he took in the fact that she wore no other kind of ring on that finger either, and that nor was there any tell tale mark to indicate that she ever had.

"And yes, I would be delighted, Mr Hawke," she smiled softly at him, then added: "On one condition," he frowned at her then. "That you let me go halves."

Only after he nodded his head in agreement, did she hold out her hand to him, so that he could help her to her feet.

"Now that you mention it, I'm starved," she grinned, as she steadied herself against him. "I could eat a horse."

"I don't know any place that serves horse," Hawke did not look convinced, but took her at her word, sensing that she was trying to lighten the mood between them now. "But, I think we could find you a thick, juicy rib eye steak close by."

Tucking her small, cold hand gently into the crook of his arm, he guided her across the store room and out through the hangar.

Hawke settled her in to the Santini Air jeep and secured the soft plastic roof, as the April evening was chilly, and it was too cold to drive with the top down.

Then, after making sure that everything was secure inside the hangar, he turned off the lights and locked the door behind him, then joined Ginny McBride in the jeep.


	3. Chapter 3

The restaurant that Hawke chose was small, quiet and not overly crowded this early in the evening. They were seated at their table quickly, and ordered drinks from a friendly waitress, who left them to scrutinize the menu while she filled their drinks order at the bar.

The waitress returned a few minutes later with a small beer for Hawke and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice over huge chunks of ice, for his companion.

"You guys ready to order your food now?" the waitress asked politely, and pinned her expectant gaze on Stringfellow Hawke.

"Sure. Ginny?" Hawke regarded his companion over the top of his menu and smiled softly at her.

"I'll go with the steak thanks, medium rare. It came highly recommended," Ginny McBride smiled widely at the waitress as she handed back the menu.

"You want fries and side salad with that?"

"Please," Ginny confirmed.

"I'll have the trout, with vegetables and a baked potato, thanks," Hawke requested when the waitress returned her gaze to him.

He knew that the fish wouldn't taste nearly as good as the ones he pulled out fresh from the lake, but there wasn't much else on the menu that he found even remotely tempting, knowing from past experience, and visits here with Dominic Santini, that the vegetarian option was bland and unpalatable, not to mention uninspired.

"So, do you have a first name?" Ginny asked after the waitress had left them to deliver their order to the small kitchen out back.

The question drew a frown from Hawke now.

"What?" she had noticed his odd expression, and wondered what it was that she had said to put that look there.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You must have a first name, and I can't keep calling you Mr Hawke all night."

"String," the word was expelled with great reluctance on a shoulder raising sigh, and Ginny McBride stopped in the middle of raising her glass to her lips and regarded him with big blue eyes.

"Oh my, you did say String, didn't you?"

"Stringfellow," his body language grew defensive as he ground out his unusual name between clenched teeth, then, reached out for his own drink, hoping that he could hide his obvious embarrassment and discomfort behind his glass.

"Well now, that's interesting."

"I beg your pardon?" he stopped in the act of raising his glass to his lips and regarded with a deep frown.

"We have something in common," Ginny too set her glass down and began to twist it around by the thickened glass at its base.

"Don't tell me, you're real name's Stringfellow too?" Hawke quipped, wishing that they could change the subject.

"No. Not Stringfellow. Sydney," she told him without so much as batting an eyelid.

"Sydney? As in Sydney, Australia?" he gaped at her in astonishment.

"No, as in, Sydney, from the French, meaning 'follower of Saint Denys'," Ginny explained with practiced patience. "St Dennis. San Denys," she added with just the hint of a French accent to make it sound more authentic, and then grinned most charmingly at him.

"Wow," Hawke was taken aback by the amused look on her face.

"That's not the worst of it. Ginny is actually my third given name."

"What's your second?" he asked, curious now, and intrigued that she actually had three names at all. Most people he knew had two, but not three.

"Sorrel."

"Sorrel?" he almost choked on the sip of his beer that he had just taken. "Like the horse?"

"No, like the pretty woodland flower, Wood Sorrel," she explained patiently, obviously as used to people's weird reaction to, and always having to explain, her strange name, as he was.

"Sydney, Sorrel?" he arched an eyebrow in enquiry.

"Virginia. I know, not much better, and no, not named for the State. My Mom was a big Virginia Mayo fan."

"You're making this up. To make me feel better."

"Am not," she grew irritated with him them. "What makes you think you and your family have the monopoly on dumb names?"

"Touché," Hawke lowered his gaze apologetically just for a moment.

"Do you have a middle name?" Ginny asked now, hiding a smile behind her glass of orange juice.

"No," he told her, with obvious relief. "Thank God, but I do have a brother called, St John, pronounced, Sinjin."

"As in 'follower of Saint John', San John," again she affected the French accent. "Sinjin."

"Yeah," he was surprised that she had made the connection so quickly. "I guess my folks ran out of freaky names when they got to me. Stringfellow is bad enough though. Something as simple as Adam or James or even Chuck was too plain for them to even consider," he grinned then, a teasing light dancing in his blue eyes.

"You'll never know how glad I was that I wasn't born in the hippy era. My folks would have had a field day with things like River or Rainbow or Jaybird," he rolled his eyes heavenward.

He and St John had often joked with each other that had they been born ten years or so later, in the age of flower power and Woodstock, they might have had to suffer going through life with names like Aquarius or Pisces or Destiny or Daydream.

Just before they had shipped out to Vietnam, the Hawke brothers had gone out for a last drink together, and they had almost fallen out of their chairs, laughing so hard, at the thought of reporting to the Army for induction and having to explain to their Sergeant that their names really were Stormcloud and Snowbird Hawke.

Both had agreed, that in view of their parents penchant for the unusual, they had gotten off lightly with the names they had been given.

Stringfellow and St John weren't so bad after all.

"Stringfellow," Ginny said his name in a low, sexy voice, stringing it out and savouring the sound of it. "It's a nice name. A strong name," she told him, setting down her glass once more.

"It doesn't sound so bad when you say it, Sydney. Syd?"

"Yuk! Never call me that again, or else I will have to kill you," she chuckled, waving her fork under his nose in warning.

"My name is Ginny, not Syd, or Sorry, or even Bridie. You'd do well to remember that, if you don't want to go home with a falsetto voice for your trouble."

"Ouch."

Hawke's right hand dropped protectively into his lap, but his deep blue eyes were twinkling with amusement as he continued to regard her.

"Them's fighting words," he growled playfully, finding that he was enjoying her company immensely.

"No contest. We both know I couldn't fight my way out of paper bag at the moment, but, you wait until I've wrapped myself around that steak," she teased.

"Sorry?" he picked up on something she had said a few minutes before. "Did anybody actually ever call you that?"

"Sure. Lots of people. You know what kids can be like."

"Yeah," Hawke sighed deeply.

Indeed he did know, from vast personal experience.

Their dinners arrived a few minutes later, and for the next few minutes they chewed their food in silent appreciation.

"Mmmm, you were right about this steak," Ginny McBride attacked her food with obvious relish. "It's good."

"Glad you approve. This is Dom's favourite place for eating steak," Hawke told her and watched as she momentarily stopped chewing and regarded him with her head tilted slightly to one side.

He was relieved to see that she was looking much better now. More colour in her cheeks and a bright sparkle in her lovely cobalt blue eyes, framed by unusually long lashes.

Ginny McBride was an attractive woman.

She was of medium height and slight build, a good figure beneath the casual jeans and blouse.

All in the right proportions.

Fine boned.

That's what Dominic would have said of her, and Hawke found himself agreeing silently, deducing this from watching her hands, as she raised her glass to her lips.

Narrow wrists, and delicate fingers.

He also remembered how light she had been when he had carried her in his arms.

Hardly any substance to her at all.

Her face was heart shaped, her lips full, and forming a perfect bow, revealing small white teeth when she smiled, which he was also pleased to discover, she did quite often.

Indeed, he was quickly discovering that she had a cute sense of humour.

Her hair was a rich caramel colour, falling in relaxed waves down around her shoulders, the California sun having picked out the tiniest hints of gold here and there, and had added just a hint of gold to her flawless skin.

She wore no make up and little jewellery, only her wristwatch, which was an expensive looking model with a delicate gold bracelet, and tiny gold studs in her pierced earlobes.

"Dom?"

"Dominic Santini," Hawke clarified for her. "He is what brought you here, isn't he?"

"Yes," she lowered her gaze back to the food on her plate, and speared a French fry with her fork, then popped it in her mouth, chewing silently as Hawke watched her carefully.

"How do you know him?"

"Actually," she hesitated for a moment, as though unsure exactly what to tell him.

As if she were trying to decide just how much she could trust him.

Carrying on a silent debate with her self, as she chewed, and then swallowed, the French fry.

"Actually, I already told you, Stringfellow. I don't know him at all," she dabbed at her mouth with her napkin now.

"So?"

"I'm doing someone a favour. Looking him up and saying hi, while I'm in town. I made someone a promise," she explained somewhat reluctantly. "How do you know him? Are you related?"

"Oh no. Dom was my father's best friend," Hawke explained. "They were good buddies, for a long time. After my father died, Dominic kind of decided that St John and I were his responsibility. He's a good man, Ginny."

"I don't doubt it," she smiled at Hawke then.

"Anyway, we work together now."

"You're a pilot too?"

"Yup."

"So tell me about what you do," she invited picking up her knife now to cut off another piece of her steak.

"Some stunt work for the movies and TV, some aerial photography for government agencies, like the weather bureau," he clarified, watching her pop the chunk of steak into her mouth and chew industriously. "And the boring stuff, like transporting businessmen around the country, shipping small items of freight, giving flying lessons, maintenance, that kind of stuff."

"Sounds fascinating."

"What about you? What do you do?"

"I'm a professional musician," she smiled. "Pianist," she elaborated. "I accompany professional singers, mostly in small, dark, smoky backstreet bars, but I also help them when their rehearsing new material for their acts, and arrange that material for them some times."

"Sounds fascinating."

"It's a living, but if I'm honest, the work isn't regular and it doesn't always pay the bills," she smiled again. "But, I do love it."

Hawke could believe that, from the expression on her lovely face.

Music was also very important to him.

He often found solace in picking up his cello and playing whatever came to mind.

It soothed not only his mind, but his soul too.

"I also play at weddings, Bah Mitzvahs, that kind of thing. I MD, that means act as musical director, by the way," she grinned when his brow creased slightly in a quizzical frown. "Not medical doctor. I MD, for a small choir of mostly older ladies and gentlemen, and we have a lot of fun. They're a game lot and will try anything, from opera to Gospel and even Rock and Roll," she chuckled softly then, and Hawke found himself thinking that it was a lovely sound.

"And I sometimes play the organ in church on Sunday's, and for choir practice, which, pays absolutely nothing at all, but fulfils my need to share my love of music, and helps to keep me busy. I also compose a little, although I've never sold anything. So I supplement my income by working from home, as a music teacher, during the day. Some adults, but kids mostly, after school, teaching piano, violin, clarinet and flute."

"Not the cello?"

"String, most of the kids I teach wouldn't be able to pronounce the word cello, much less lift one," she grinned becomingly.

"Little guys, huh?"

"Oh yeah. Real little guys. Some are as young as four or five," she explained. "I like to get them early. When they're that young you know they are learning because they want to, that they're enjoying it, getting something out of it, not just going through the motions to please their Mom's. Why did you mention the cello?"

"Because, I play the cello."

"Really?" he nodded in confirmation and she smiled widely at him. "I'm impressed."

"You haven't heard me play yet."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Only if you play the piano, or the violin or the flute."

"You forgot the clarinet," she chuckled.

"We could duet."

"I don't think that I ever heard of a clarinet and cello duet, but …."

"I play the guitar a little too."

"Do you own a piano?"

"No."

"Maybe I'll bring my violin next time. Easier to carry around than a baby grand."

"So that's something else that we have in common. We're both musical," Hawke found that he was smiling, and that it felt quite natural and easy, for a change.

Indeed, he was relaxed and enjoying himself more than he had in a long time.

_**And we both like kids ….**_ He added silently.

"Now, if you tell me you hold a pilot's licence too …."

"I don't."

"Pity. Would you like to learn to fly?" he asked hopefully. "Dom or I could teach you."

"Actually, I'm terrified of heights," she confessed.

"Really?"

"Really," she grew serious then. "And I'm also claustrophobic."

"Not a good combination in the cockpit of an aircraft," Hawke agreed, trying to hide his disappointment.

"I should say not."

"Oh well, two out of three ain't bad."

"I didn't know you were keeping score, Stringfellow," she teased.

"It's String. And I, er, I wasn't, " he stammered.

"Your fish is getting cold," she smiled gently at him now.

"Tell me about Dominic Santini," Ginny invited after watching him tuck into his dinner for a few minutes.

"What do you want to know?" Hawke looked up from attacking his baked potato, a hint of suspicion in his expression, as he regarded her curiously now.

"Whatever you feel you can tell me."

"Why do you want to know?"

"Just curious. It's just that every time you talk about him, you make it really obvious that you like him, admire him, respect him. He's your friend, but I also get the feeling that he means a lot more to you than that."

"I've known him for a long time," Hawke said by way of explanation.

"So tell me about him. What kind of a man is he?"

"A good man."

"You already told me that, and, by the way, made it sound like a warning at the same time," she set down her cutlery and let out a soft sigh. "Look, String, I'm not here to hurt him," she told him bluntly.

"Then why are you here?"

"I made someone a promise. Someone Dominic knew a very long time ago."

"Someone?"

"Ok, I see I have to give a little information, to get a little information back."

"Fair's fair," Hawke agreed.

"Ok, I made a promise, to my mother. She died just over a month ago," Ginny's voice suddenly dropped, as did her penetrating blue gaze, and Hawke watched as she struggled to keep her composure.

"And, before she died, she made me promise that I would look up all her old friends. Including one Dominic Santini."

Hawke took a bite of his trout and raised an eyebrow enquiringly.

"She told me that they served together in Korea. She was an army nurse."

Hawke recalled that Dominic, and indeed his father, had served during the Korean War, which had kicked off when Stringfellow Hawke had been a small baby, in the summer of 1950. June of that year to be exact, and had lasted until July of 1953.

Hawke Senior and Dominic Santini had been called upon to fly MedEvac helicopters, shipping wounded men back from the front.

Dominic Santini had almost as many war stories about that conflict as he did about the years the two men had spent flying together in World War 2.

Hawke also recalled now, that Dominic Santini had caught a bullet in that conflict, which, although not life threatening, had been serious enough to get him sent back to the States for a little R & R, while Hawke's father had had to remain behind.

Maybe Ginny McBride's mother had been a nurse in the field hospital that had patched Dom up, before sending him home to recuperate?

"I'm sorry about your mother," and he meant it. He knew what it felt like to lose a beloved parent.

"Thank you."

"Had she been sick?"

"No. No, it all happened very quickly. She had a stroke. The doctors said that she would recover. The stroke had affected her right side, but she was still able to speak. She was in hospital for almost a month and seemed to be doing better. Then, just when they were getting ready to let her come home, I'd organised a stay in the local nursing home for her until she was able to manage at home, she had another stroke. She never woke up. Just slipped away," Ginny grew solemn then.

"Did she ask you to look up anyone else?"

"Yeah, lots of people," she frowned at him, wondering where he was going with this line of questioning.

"Men and women?"

"Sure. Doctors and nurses mostly. Some she served with in Korea, others she worked with back here, in the States, during the Second World War, when she was just starting her nursing career," Ginny explained in a soft, low voice.

"And some servicemen whom she had nursed back to health when they had been shipped home to recover. Korea was different though. She was based in a field hospital over there. Spent more time with the men, after they were wounded."

"Had she ever talked about any of these people before? Had she ever talked about, Dominic, for instance."

"Not that I can recall. She had no family except me, String. My Dad, actually, he was my step dad," she paused for a moment to take a breath and regarded him with big, sorrowful blue eyes as she continued.

"I never knew my real father. He was a pilot, killed on a mission in Korea. My mother told me that much, but not much else, I'm afraid. It was too painful for her. She had loved him very much, and his death almost destroyed her," she drew in a slow, shuddering breath.

"My step dad was a good man, he loved my mother very much, but on her part, I don't think she loved him nearly as much as she loved my real father," she confided softly. "Although, she tried to be happy, and to make my step dad happy."

Ginny McBride stopped then for a moment, reaching out to take a sip of her drink, taking a moment to organise her thoughts before continuing.

"My step dad died four years ago, from cancer. So, I guess after that, getting in touch with her old friends meant a lot to her. I guess she needed to know that she was remembered. Just like she remembered all of them."

"And did they remember her?"

"Sure," Ginny smiled now. "She was pretty well liked. They were all thrown together during dark times, and I guess, friends made during those times were never really forgotten. Shared experiences bound them together for the rest of their lives, even if they lost touch in later years, that's what I've discovered. A lot of the guys were just kids, but they remembered her kindness, her gentleness and her compassion. It made me feel very proud of her, String. That so many people remembered her and thought so much of her."

"And is Dom the last one on your list?"

"I guess. They were all pretty much scattered around the country. I decided to make Los Angeles my last stop, because I've always wanted to come to California. Play tourist, and stay a while and enjoy the weather. Milwaukee in April is up there on a par with Siberia," she grinned then.

"You're from Wisconsin then?"

"No, I was born in Denver, Colorado. That's where Mom was from originally. She went back there when she was, sent home, from Korea. My step dad was a doctor. Mom married him when I was eleven. He took a job in a hospital in Milwaukee, when I was thirteen, and so we all moved there with him. Later he set up his own practice, and Milwaukee became home."

"And what was your mother's name?"

"Eve. Dominic Santini would have known her as Eve Archer."

Hawke paused for a moment to take a sip of his beer, trying to remember if Dominic Santini had ever mentioned her name.

It was true that Dominic didn't talk so much about the Korean theatre of war as he did about the big show in Europe.

Oh yes, he had stories.

Lots of stories, but, now that he stopped and thought about it, Hawke had to admit to himself that there was something different about the way Dom talked about his friend Steven Hawke, in relation to the Korean War, and the time they had spent out there.

Now that he actually stopped and gave it some thought, Hawke could not help wondering if something had happened between the two friends.

Something, that had ended up testing that friendship somehow?

Something that Dominic Santini still found difficult to talk about all these years later.

Dom was a man of good conscience, and had never said anything in front of the Hawke brothers that might have tarnished the perfect image both boys had of their beloved father.

Even to this day.

Dominic Santini had been wounded out there. Maybe it had something to do with that?

Maybe Dominic blamed his father in some way?

Maybe Dom blamed him for not preventing it?

Or, maybe his father had been responsible in some small way for Dominic's being wounded, and it had tested the depth of their friendship.

Or, maybe Dom had just been angry that he had been unlucky and caught a bullet when Steven Hawke had remained unscathed.

Maybe Dominic Santini had even taken that bullet for his friend?

And had come back from his R &R in the States feeling unsure that his friend had really been worthy of that sacrifice.

Whatever it was, fortunately the friends had come to terms with it and had returned to the States as close as ever, and had remained that way until Hawke's parents' untimely deaths, in the boating accident on the lake, when Hawke had been twelve years old.

"Do you want me to tell Dom about any of this, or would you rather wait until you meet him yourself?" Hawke asked softly, setting down his beer glass once more and regarding his companion with soft blue eyes.

"I don't mind. It's up to you," she pushed her plate away then, her appetite suddenly gone, and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin once more. "He'll either see me, or he won't," she took a sip of her orange juice, then, discarded that too, pulling a sour face because it tasted like ashes in her mouth. "He may not even remember her."

"Dom's memory is pretty good. He's not in his dotage just yet," Hawke grew defensive then.

"I'm not saying he is, String, just that it's been over thirty years, and a whole lifetime away," she pointed out reasonably. "He's moved on. Lived a whole life since then. As did she."

"He's a good guy, Ginny. A reasonable guy. A nice guy. I can't see any reason why he wouldn't want to speak with you," String assured her now, reaching out across the table to touch the back of her hand lightly with the tips of his fingers.

"Look, I'll play it cool, just tell him you stopped by the hangar, that you mentioned that your Mom asked you to look him up and pay her respects, and that you'll be coming by again another time. You will won't you? Be coming by the hangar again, some time soon?"

"Sure," this brought a smile to her lips now. "Sure," she turned her hand over and gently curled her fingers around his, giving them a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

If she was reading the signs correctly, he liked her.

Yes.

He liked her.

Every bit as much as she found herself liking him.

_**And it was so damned unfair!**_

_**Why couldn't she have met him six months ago? A year ago?**_

_**Why now, dammit? **_

_**Why now?**_

"Want some dessert?" he asked gently now, returning the soft squeeze of her fingers, before withdrawing his hand.

"Why not? Need to keep my blood sugar levels up," and she wanted something to take the sour, bitter taste out of her mouth.

The taste of disappointment.

And deceit.

Hating that she had had to lie to him.

Lies by omission, still counted as lies, didn't they?

"Cait assures me that the ice cream sundaes here are to die for."

"Cait?"

"Caitlin O'Shannessy. She's another pilot who works for Dom at Santini Air," Hawke deftly changed the subject now, fearing that the talk of her mother had upset Ginny McBride more than she was letting on.

"Used to fly for Texas Highway Patrol, until about six months ago. Flying Meter Maid," he chuckled. "She's one helluva pilot though."

Hawke raised his index finger to summon the waitress back to their table now.

"And if you ever tell her that, I'll have to kill you."

"Touché."

"Willing to risk a sugar overdose with that ice cream sundae?"

"Sure. We could even share it," the smile she gave to him now was easy and warm and he found himself nodding in agreement.

"Why not? So long as you make it double double choc chip, dripping with chocolate sauce, and with a side order of chocolate chips," Hawke wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and grinned like an idiot.

"Sure there's enough chocolate in that for you?" a broad grin was forming on Ginny McBride's lips now.

Yes, he was a nice guy.

And yes, she liked him.

_**Really**_ liked him.

So why not enjoy the attention and this lovely warm glow that filled her heart and her soul every time he smiled at her?

It wasn't a sensation that she was used to.

So, why not?

Life was far too short and opportunities like this, to _**feel**_like this, were few and far between.

When her life was blessed with such an opportunity, she would be a fool not to take that chance and grab it, and make the best of it.

Wouldn't she?

No matter how long, or short, it may last.

"Never enough chocolate, unless I wind up at the dentist, for a filling," Hawke chuckled then and indicated to the waitress that they were done with their dinner plates. "Now, tell me Miss McBride, do you dance?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Do you hear what I hear?" Dominic Santini grinned conspiratorially at Caitlin O'Shannessy, over the rim of his coffee mug, a bright, devilish twinkle in his blue grey eyes, even this early in the morning.

There was a chill in the air this lovely April morning, and Dom and Cait were hugging mugs of hot coffee close to their chests, sipping slowly and allowing the caffeine to flood through their sluggish, sleep dulled systems.

"I hear it, but, I don't believe it," Cait replied in a soft voice, taking a sip of her coffee. "Hawke's whistling."

"Yeah. Kinda pretty, ain't it?"

Indeed, the tune, that filled the hangar this morning, a golden oldie in a jaunty waltz time, which Dominic vaguely remembered from his younger days, was a pleasant sound, but its source was surprising.

"Hold the front page, but, I even thought I saw him smiling!" Cait lowered her voice and grinned at Dominic Santini.

"You did?" Santini hung a look of astonishment on his rumpled old face then as Cait, still grinning, nodded. "But, I thought it was all over with him and Judy?"

"It is," Caitlin confirmed, then grew puzzled. "Why is it you automatically think that Hawke's being cheerful and in a good mood must have something to do with a woman?" Cait was frowning now.

"You're kidding, right?" Santini gave her a pained look. "It's obvious!"

"It is?"

"Sure."

"Maybe he's just happy to be alive. Spring is in the air, and he's happy to be alive."

"Dames," Dominic Santini rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation.

"What? What?" Cait demanded with a scowl.

"That ain't Spring, honey, it's lurve. You have no idea what makes a guy tick."

"Oh no? I think I know what makes you two guys tick!" Cait scoffed. "The same thing that makes guys the world over tick. Girls, beer, sports and fast cars and, or aeroplanes," Cait reeled off. "It's not complicated, Dom. Booze, adrenalin, and testosterone."

"Not always in that order, I hope," this drew another scowl from the Texan hothead. "You think you got it all worked out, don't you?"

"I've put enough fella's behind bars, Dom. I think I know," she reminded.

"Some day, Cait, you're gonna wake up and realise that not all of us are like that. That you can't tar us all with the same brush," Santini advised her sagely. "Some of us are good old fashioned gentlemen."

"Is that any different to old fashioned good old boys?" she quizzed, arching an eyebrow.

"Ok, so who do you think it is?" Santini asked now, ignoring her outburst. "The female that's put a gleam in his eye, and a spring in his step this morning?"

"I don't know. Maybe we should ask him?"

"Nah, Leave him be. It don't happen very often. Like solar eclipses," Dominic Santini smothered a laugh at his own joke. "Besides, he works harder when he's sweet tempered," Santini chuckled now. "You telling me you'd rather see that scowl on his face, huh?" he asked, noting the expression on Cait's face.

"No. No, I'm glad he seems happy this morning. I just can't help wondering what happened to him after I left last night."

"Maybe he was abducted by aliens, and got a sense of humour transplant!" Santini grinned.

"You two ever gonna do any work, or are you just gonna stand there gossiping all day?"

Stringfellow Hawke sauntered across the hangar toward the hot plate and helped himself to a mug of the coffee that he had set to brewing first thing that morning, and which was strong and good and hot, just the way he liked it.

He was dressed in khaki coveralls which were already smeared with oil and grease and an oily rag hung out of one of the pockets.

He had already been tinkering with the innards of the Hughes helicopter that he had made a start on yesterday, when firstly Dominic Santini, and then Caitlin had arrived at the hangar.

After their pleasant dinner the previous evening, Hawke had taken Ginny McBride to a little place he knew, where they still played slow romantic music for couples to dance to, in the old fashioned way, cheek to cheek, and they had passed a very pleasant evening, dancing and talking and laughing, until in the small hours, Hawke had noticed that Ginny seemed to be running out of steam, and he had offered to take her home.

She had given him directions to the small motel out on the coast road where she had been staying, and as he had taken the key from her and opened up the door to her room, Ginny had suddenly reached out to give him one helluva hug, and held onto him tightly, as she thanked him for a lovely evening ….

And whispered into his ear, in a soft, low voice, that she didn't want it to end.

That she didn't want to say goodnight, or goodbye.

Neither had Hawke, and he had gladly accepted her offer of coffee, although more coffee was the very last thing that he really wanted.

She had invited him in, and they had sat and talked some more, about everything and nothing, until the soft fingers of dawn light had crept between the shades at her windows, and Hawke realised that she had fallen asleep with her head against his shoulder.

Hawke guessed that he must have nodded off at some point too, his arm draped casually around Ginny's shoulder, her soft warm body curled toward him, and pressed close against his own as she slept, one arm draped lightly across his lap, a peaceful expression on her lovely face, and her hair tumbling in a tangled, caramel coloured cascade around her face and shoulders.

Ginny had roused from her slumber when Hawke had lightly kissed her on the top of her head, and moved a tendril of her hair from her cheek, and had smiled, sleepily, and oh so sweetly up at him, as he told her, regretfully, that he had to go.

The kiss they had shared before he had left her had been amongst the sweetest that Hawke had ever tasted in his life, and his heart had been racing in his chest as he had put her gently away from him and smiled down at her lovely face.

Hardly able to believe that he had known her for less than twenty four hours.

And, unable to stop himself from wondering as he did so, if this was the beginning of something special for them.

Hawke had returned to the hangar at Van Nuys Airport with a light heart and a spring in his step, despite the fact that he had barely slept, and had used the facilities in the locker room to shower and shave, neatly folding and putting yesterday's clothes away, along with the clean change of clothes he kept in his locker, before pulling on his work coveralls, and had been hard at work on the engine of the Hughes helicopter when his work mates had arrived to start the day's labours.

"Good morning to you too, String," Santini sighed expressively and rolled his eyes heavenward briefly. "Just who is the boss around here, anyway?"

"You are, Dominic."

"Then who told you to get stuck in to the innards of that Hughes?"

"I got in early. Thought I would make myself useful. After all, Dom, you don't pay me to sit around with my feet up on the desk," Hawke reminded sardonically.

"Don't pay overtime either."

"I know, Dominic," Hawke wrestled to hide a smile by raising his coffee mug to his lips and taking a welcome sip. "Seems you don't reward initiative financially, either."

"You got some of that then?" Santini said sarcastically. "But, hey, you don't like the working conditions around here, you can always exercise your right to use your feet, and walk out that door," Santini snorted, pointing to the open hangar door, although he was fighting a loosing battle to contain a smirk.

"No need to get all steamed up, Dominic," Hawke let out a deep sigh of exasperation and glanced at Caitlin for a little moral support.

"You feelin' ok?" Santini asked now, a frown drawing down his considerable brow.

"Yeah. Why?" Hawke frowned now too.

"Only you been smilin'."

"And whistling," Cait chipped in, enjoying the banter that was passing between her colleagues. She had learned over her months of service at Santini Air, that they had quite a double act going.

"Thought maybe you were feeling …. Off colour."

"Got a temperature?" this from Cait.

"Is there some law around here against a guy being cheerful in his work?" Hawke snarled now, disliking the implication that he was moody and unpredictable and difficult to work with, although he knew that they were only teasing him.

Hell, he knew better than anyone that his moods were as changeable as mountain weather, and Lord knew he tried to keep an even temper, and to at least give the outward impression that all was well.

It wasn't always easy.

And he wasn't always as successful at it as he might have liked.

However, nobody knew him better than Dominic Santini.

And Caitlin O'Shannessy also seemed to be developing an uncanny knack for judging the condition of his mood and temper.

"Hey, keep your powder dry, son. We was just wonderin', that's all," Santini advised now. "Just having a little fun with you, is all."

"Fun? Making out like you don't want or need me around here anymore? And ragging on me for being cheerful? You think that's funny?" Hawke growled.

"I'm sorry, I forgot, you don't do, _humour_," Santini grouched.

"Some things just aren't funny, Dom," Hawke regarded his old friend over the rim of his coffee mug, trying desperately not to grin at the pained expression that now settled on the older man's face.

"And sometimes, you've got to be prepared to take a little, as well as give it out!" Hawke lowered his mug then and grinned at Dominic Santini, giving him the full wattage Hawke smile.

"Clown," Santini rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "Funny guy, this Stringfellow Hawke. Have 'em rollin' in the aisle down at the church social," Santini turned to Caitlin, but found her wrestling with a grin too. "You two," he wagged a warning finger at both of his colleagues. "You'll be the death of me."

However their mirth was infectious and Santini too was soon wearing a soppy grin, and slipping an arm around each of them, he drew Cait and Hawke close for a warm, affectionate hug.

Santini counted himself to be a lucky man. He had a good business with a job he loved, and people he liked and cared about, and whom liked and cared about him too.

And to top it all ….

The icing on the top of the cake ….

He had the Lady too.

And the little adventures that he shared in her with Hawke, which made him feel young and useful and alive.

When they weren't scaring the living hell out of him.

Oh yes, he truly was blessed.

"So," Santini released his hold on Cait and Hawke and let out a hissed sigh at last and consulted the big diary which was open on the desk before him, indicating to his colleagues that it was time to get serious.

"Ok, seems we have no lessons until after lunch, and no stunt work or government work either," he absently lifted his right hand to scratch beneath the brim of his baseball cap as he spoke. "But, before you all go off on a mental vacation, there is plenty of maintenance work to do around here, and the Cessna and the Leah need valeting," he was rewarded by sour looks and groans all round.

"Just what I like to see. A happy work force! So, String, as you already seem to be up to your nostrils in grease, you can carry on with the Hughes, and Cait, you can get out your mop and dusters and the vacuum cleaner and get to cleaning the jets. Got important businessmen going to Reno on Friday. Wouldn't do to have them tripping over all those streamers and balloons left over from that Doctor's convention last week. Don't want them to find a hair out of place. "

"Who's going to fly them?" String asked casually.

"Well, if Mrs Mopp here does a good job on cleaning up after the convention crowd from last weekend, I thought maybe she and I might make a weekend of it," Santini grinned, casting a sideways glance at Caitlin O'Shannessy, perhaps hoping to see excitement and gratitude on her pretty face, but all he got for his trouble was a very cold look, so he returned his gaze to Stringfellow Hawke.

"Does that fit in with your weekend plans, String?"

"Might do," Hawke shrugged non committally and scowled at Santini's knowing grin.

"You haven't forgotten that it's Easter?" this from Caitlin now.

"It is? No, no, of course I hadn't forgotten," Santini let out a soft sigh and began to understand the reason behind her cold look. "And you and the new boyfriend have plans?"

"Yeah. Well, Roger and I are still talking, but …."

"Don't worry I'll take care of it myself."

"But I thought you and Nancy had plans?" Cait jumped in before Hawke could offer.

"I said don't worry, and I meant don't worry. I'm sure Nancy would enjoy a little treat. I hear Reno is so nice this time of the year."

The look on Santini's face said that he was the boss, and he understood that sometimes being the boss meant that he had to step in at the last minute and take his share of the workload, so that his employees could take the vacation time they were due.

He might not like it, nut, now that he thought about it, a weekend away with the new lady in his life, might be just what the doctor ordered.

"Ok kids, let's get to it. Day's a wastin'."

"Some of us have already done a day's work before you two even got here," Hawke grumbled as he watched Cait, hunched shoulders and head down, mumbling to herself, as she grudgingly made her way across the hangar and out the back to where they kept the cleaning supplies ….

Muttering something no doubt, about quitting her job as a glorified flying meter maid in Texas, in exchange for one as a glorified janitor in California ….

Not quite the glamorous life she had envisaged for herself when she had left the heat and dust and male chauvinism of Pope County behind her.

"And don't think that gives you the right to slope off early, either," Santini warned, over hearing what Hawke had just said.

"As if? Hey Dom," Hawke stopped Santini as he was about to set off for the back office, and the pile of paper work that awaited him there. "You know I don't mind taking the convention crowd to Reno. If you and Nancy had something planned?"

"I guess I forgot about the holiday weekend, String. I know we usually spend it up at the cabin."

"So this year you do something different," Hawke smiled.

"I thought maybe you might have special plans yourself?" Santini fished.

"Nah. Nothing special. Just me and Tet and a fishing line."

"Oh."

"So, if you want me to take the Reno flight, it's ok."

"I'll talk to Nancy. See if she would like a little trip, and then I'll let you know."

"Dom, we had a visitor when I was closing up last night."

"Oh?"

"Archangel. Came to say, thanks."

"And?" Santini frowned.

"That's it. Thanks."

"He came all this way just to say thanks?" Hawke nodded. "I don't like it."

"Me neither." Hawke smiled now.

"It don't make sense."

"You said it," Hawke agreed.

"And you don't know what he wanted?"

"No, Dom. I have no idea. He started talking in clichés, about all good things coming to an end, and having too much of a good thing."

Hawke sighed softly and drained his coffee mug, depositing it on the counter beside the hot plate, before sauntering over to Dominic Santini, and slipping his arm casually around the older man's shoulder.

"I still don't like it."

"So you said."

"We still in business?" Santini asked in a low, anxious voice as Caitlin O'Shannessy entered the hangar, loaded down with cleaning materials and a bucket of warm, soapy water.

"Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

Hawke followed Santini's gaze and watched Caitlin struggling to keep from dropping bottles of detergent and dusting clothes.

"Think we should offer to give her a hand?"

"What? And get tossed over her shoulder for our trouble? Nah, she's ok." Santini grinned.

"Dom …."

"Yeah, kid?" Santini regarded the younger man now and realised that there was something on his mind, but that he was also unsure if he should raise the subject with his old friend. "Just spit it out," Santini sighed.

The look he now saw on the younger man's face had often preceded the younger man's request for money, or the loan of his car or jeep, or the Bell Jet Ranger.

Or, a confession to some misdemeanour that the boy Hawke had known would get him grounded, if nothing else.

A hint of guilt.

"What?"

"Whatever it is that's stuck in your throat, kid."

"Someone else came calling last night, as I was closing up."

"Oh?" Santini frowned suspiciously now. "Should I be worrying? Does it mean trouble?"

Santini was aware that some of the other proprietors on the strip had been troubled by young men demanding protection money, but thus far, with Hawke's very visible and formidable presence on the forecourt, and in the hangar, Santini Air had thus far been spared a visit by the protection racket gang.

"No, Dom, nothing like that," Hawke assured now, giving his old friend's considerable shoulder a hard squeeze.

"So who was it?"

"A woman. A _**young**_woman," Hawke clarified.

"Sure she was looking for me?"

"Yeah, Dom. Asked for you, by name."

This drew the old man's features down into a deep frown of concentration now.

If truth be told, Dominic Santini didn't know that many _**young**_women.

Except Cait, and a few of her friends. And he couldn't think of a reason why any of them would be asking directly for him.

If they wanted Cait, they would have asked for her, and if they wanted flying lessons, surely they would have made an approach to Cait first, and let her do the negotiating about costs with him, on their behalf?

"So? This young woman, she got a name?" Santini was still frowning, wracking his brain trying to think of whom his visitor might have been, and troubled that he kept coming up blank.

"Oh, yeah," Hawke struggled to smother a smile then.

"What's so funny, kid? Wanna share the joke?"

"Sorry, it's kinda private."

"Look, String, I don't got all day here," Santini grew impatient with the younger man's amusement now, thinking to himself that Archangel had a point.

Sometimes you could have too much of a good thing.

Point in fact, Hawke being in a good mood for a change!

"Ok, Dom. Her name is Virginia …. Ginny McBride."

Hawke watched Dominic Santini's face, but the look of consternation and puzzlement remained on the older man's rumpled old face and Hawke knew immediately that his friend had no idea who the young woman was.

"Did she say what she wanted?" Santini asked now, lifting the brim of his red silk baseball cap to scratch absently at the top of his left ear.

"Apparently, you knew her mother."

"String, believe it or not, I've known a lot of dames in my time. Did she say how I knew her mother? From where?" there was an edge of impatience in Santini's tone now.

"From Korea."

"Gimme a hint here, huh? This one got a name?"

"Eve. Eve Archer."

Stringfellow Hawke was immediately surprised to see shock, and then something else, a harshness, settle in his old friend's blue grey eyes.

It was a look Hawke had never seen before and it puzzled him.

"Dom?" Hawke asked in concern as he watched the colour drain from Santini's face now. "You ok?"

"Sure kid. Sure," Santini assured, but shrugged Hawke's hand off his shoulder. "Time we did some work around here."

"Dom?"

Dominic Santini turned and walked away from Stringfellow Hawke without another word, leaving the younger man frowning deeply as he watched the older man's departing back, held stiffly and ramrod straight, as he headed for the back office.

"Well I'll be damned!"

"You said it, Hawke," Caitlin O'Shannessy hissed at him, as she staggered by on her way out to where the Leah and the Cessna were parked on the far side of the hangar. "Your Momma ever teach you any manners? You're no gentleman, Stringfellow Hawke," she cursed as she juggled with cleaning materials.

"No, please, don't trouble yourself. I can manage. I can multitask, walk, talk and carry all this garbage all at the same time," She grouched, and despite his concern for his old friend, Stringfellow Hawke could not help smiling at her.

"And get mad too! C'mere," Hawke offered, reaching out to take the bucket of warm soapy water from her, however, its momentum, as she had swung it against her leg as she walked, did not slow down any as he took it from her, and ended up slopping half of its contents down his front.

"Oops," Caitlin O'Shannessy spluttered, fighting to control her need to burst out laughing, as the soapy water left a dark stain, slowly spreading down Hawke's front.

"Gee, thanks," Hawke scowled. "That's what you get for trying to be a gentleman," he glowered at her. "Just goes to prove what I've always said."

"What's that?"

Hawke' bottom lip twisted menacingly, as he continued to glower at Cait, who, unmoved by his expression, raised a questioning eyebrow and he added.

"No good deed ever goes without punishment."

"Maybe you should have tried a little harder, a little sooner?" Cait suggested helpfully.

"Ha ha, very funny," Hawke sneered.

"What's wrong with Dom?" Cait changed the subject now.

"Don't know. Told him he had a visitor while I was locking up last night and he went postal on me," Hawke sighed, swatting at the stain darkening the front of his coveralls in a most embarrassing fashion.

"What in the hell does that mean, Hawke?" Cait sighed too now. "He went postal?"

"How should I know? Guess I just heard it some place," he shrugged.

She gave him a pained look now.

"Trouble?" She was referring to the visitor again now.

"I don't know," then he noticed her concerned expression and knew what she was thinking. "No, I don't think so. At least not the kind that carries baseball bats and demands money not to trash the joint," he assured.

"What then?" there was relief in her grey eyes now, Hawke noted.

"Ghosts from the past. He'll be ok," he reassured her now. "Just give him some time and space to work it out," Hawke added as an after thought. "He knows where we are if he needs us."

"Ok."

"In the mean time. We have work to do."

"You gonna get cleaned up?"

"Why? Just gonna get messy again," Hawke grinned maliciously then and with fluid grace, reached down into the bucket, deftly flicking a huge, cupped handful of soap suds at Caitlin, and was rewarded with a loud scream, which was then followed by a similar handful of suds coming straight back at his head.

"Oh, it's gonna be like that it is! Well, two can play at that game!" Caitlin O'Shannessy's face was suffused with colour, but her eyes sparkled with playful indignation, as she advanced on him and took aim with another handful of suds, even as he was wiping the remnants of the first watery missile from his face.

"Now Cait, be reasonable …. Caitlin …. Cait!"


	5. Chapter 5

Dominic Santini sat down heavily in the old chair behind his desk in the back office at Santini Air, and with a deep sigh, buried his head in his hands.

He could hear the squeals coming from the direction of the hangar, followed by laughter, and he let out a deep sigh.

String and Caitlin ….

Up to their antics again ….

Sometimes those two acted like a couple of big kids.

He remembered being that young.

And that care free.

It had warmed his old heart to see his young friend Hawke looking and sounding so happy and relaxed this morning. and of course, it naturally followed, to Santini's way of thinking, that it had something to do with a girl.

After all, even Stringfellow Hawke wasn't immune to having his head turned by a pretty face.

Maybe even the girl who had come calling here, asking for Santini last night?

Dominic Santini suddenly found himself hoping fervently that he was mistaken, and that this Ginny McBride had nothing to do with Hawke's present happiness.

That it was just a coincidence.

_**Damn.**_

Why now?

Why after all this time?

_**Damn.**_

Eve Archer.

Now there was a name he hadn't heard in more than thirty years, and if he didn't hear it again for another thirty years, or more, it would still not be long enough.

Now, as he sat at the desk with his head in his hands, the memories crowded in around him.

Young Dominic Santini, back in uniform. Barely five years after the last time, when Herr Hitler, and his cohorts, had him hauling ass all over Europe, dodging bullets and dropping bombs.

This time the threat came from the opposite side of the world.

November, 1950.

Assigned to the 8th Army, 2nd Helicopter Detachment, complete with four Bell H-13 Sioux choppers and not much else, Dominic Santini had dutifully answered the call and donned his uniform and reported as required for duty in a new war.

Korea.

The 38th Parallel.

Steven Hawke, as always, at his side and in the thick of things, grinning and fooling around, trying desperately to hide the fact that now that he and Connie were settled, and had two beautiful sons, the very last thing he wanted was to end up dead in some place on the other side of the world, with a name that no-one could pronounce, and wouldn't remember in another ten years from then.

Connie Hawke, gently pressing soft, warm, loving lips to his cheeks as she gave him a strong hug and begged him to take care of himself, and Steven, as she bid him a sorrowful farewell.

Before reaching out to bravely, kiss her husband goodbye.

Desperate to hide her fear and her tears, cradling baby Stringfellow tightly in her arms, young St John hanging on to the hem of her skirt, as they waved Steven off to yet another war.

Dominic Santini, heart in his mouth as he watched with pride and admiration and more than a little envy, as his friend bid goodbye to his beautiful, loving family.

Korea.

The noise.

The smell.

The blood.

So much blood ….

The death.

The constant knot of fear in his stomach, every time he and Steven took one of those birds up to collect more casualties and bring them back to the Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, or MASH as popularised by the recent television show.

And Eve Archer.

Tall, slender, fine boned.

Natural blonde with big, soft, beckoning blue eyes.

A huge, warm, loving smile.

And warm, welcoming arms.

Eve Archer.

Sassy and intelligent and gutsy.

Funny and reckless and provocative.

Sultry and seductive.

All woman.

Dedicated to her nursing career.

Tenacious and unbending in her belief that no man under her care would die, because, she simply would not _**let**_them.

Would not give up fighting for them, praying for them.

Believing in them.

Eve Archer.

Alive and vibrant and passionate.

Oh yes.

So very passionate.

In every thing.

Eve Archer.

The most beautiful creature Dominic Santini had ever set eyes on.

As tempting as the first Eve must have been to Adam, in their idyllic Garden of Eden, she was the first woman whom Dominic Santini had really loved.

The first woman whom had betrayed him.

There had been others over the years, oh yes ….

His wife, Lila included.

But, Eve Archer's betrayal had been the hardest to bear.

What was left of Dominic Santini's heart after Eve Archer had snatched if from his breast and stomped all over it, hadn't been of much use to him, or, to anyone else who came after her.

Hers had been the first betrayal, and the deepest.

_**Oh yeah, the first cut really was the deepest!**_

As he sat there with his head in his hands, in his mind's eye, Dominic Santini could see Eve Archer as she had been, the last time that he had seen her.

Could see her as clearly as if it were just yesterday, looking so beautiful in her surgical greens and so torn by the words she found so difficult to say, and he could feel that same sense of betrayal.

Feel the anger and disappointment she had caused him with those few simple words.

Feel them just as deeply and as keenly as if they were fresh wounds opening up in his soul.

Leaving him feeling as cold and empty and bereft as if they had only been inflicted a few moments before.

Damn her.

What did she want with him now?

What could she possibly want from him, thirty four years after twisting a knife deeply into his breast?

Whatever it was he damned well wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.

Or, the opportunity to twist the knife in his heart once more.

He had put her out of his mind and his heart, thirty four years ago, and there was no room in his life for her now.

No place for her.

The path she had chosen to take thirty four years ago had excluded him from her life, and she had no right to turn up out of the blue, all these years later to try to worm her way back into his life.

Damn her.

Yes.

Damn her!

She didn't even have the guts to come herself, sending her daughter in her place.

Well, damn her too!

He didn't need her turning up here, raking up the past, pleading with him to be reasonable, to put the past behind them.

Begging for forgiveness, on her mother's behalf.

She would be wasting her time.

Dominic Santini had no forgiveness left in his heart for Eve Archer.

He wanted nothing to do with her.

Period.

He had taken all his feelings for Eve Archer and killed them, stone dead, and buried them, except, he realised, as a fat tear splashed down on the desk before him, smudging the ink on the manifest for spare parts he was resting his elbows on, maybe he hadn't buried them deeply enough.

He wiped away the tear he could feel sliding down his cool cheek with a knuckle and took in a deep breath, swallowing down the lump of emotion that was threatening to choke him as he did so.

No dammit, she wasn't worth even one of his tears.

Not now.

And, not then.

The heartache, turmoil and bitterness she had left in her wake had rocked Dominic Santini's world to the core.

Threatened everything that he had held dear.

The repercussions echoing through his life for years after.

Everything had changed after Eve Archer.

Dominic Santini had changed.

Nothing had been quite the same ever again.

Not the world as he saw it.

Nor the people in it.

Even those he counted amongst his closest kith and kin.

It had taken him years to get over it.

To put it all behind him.

And nothing in this world could ever induce him to revisit those old memories.

That old pain.

Other kinds of pain, different kinds of pain, had covered over it over the years.

Layer upon layer, like a scab.

The betrayal of his wife, Lila.

The death of his daughter, Sally-Anne.

So young, so beautiful, and so troubled.

So very far away and so beyond his reach. His help.

Until it was too late.

The deaths of Steven and Connie Hawke.

So unnecessary, and pointless, leaving behind those two magnificent young men.

St John, missing, all these years, Lord knows where.

Other women, who had come and gone, some who had meant more than others to Dominic Santini, but none who had come close to meaning as much to him as Eve Archer once had.

Except Nancy Fitzgerald.

Yes.

Nancy had come pretty close, in the few short weeks that they had been seeing each other.

She had brought a joy for life and laughter back into Dominic Santini's life.

And hope.

Hope that it wasn't too late for him to find a little happiness after all.

Even at his age.

That was what he had to concentrate on now, Dominic Santini told himself sternly.

The future.

With Nancy.

Eve Archer belonged in the past.

As far as Dominic Santini was concerned, that was where she was going to stay.

Santini had no idea how long he sat at his desk forcing himself to try to concentrate on the piles of paper that were stacked on his desk, along with the account books he had collected back from his accountant the day before, trying to make sense of his jumbled finances.

After several minutes of staring aimlessly into space, Dominic Santini finally had to admit that he could not take any of it in, and so he rose stiffly from his chair, and walked out of the office, closing the door on the chaos that covered his desk, and the sour thoughts he had been harbouring about Eve Archer.

As he came back out into the hangar he found both Hawke and Caitlin busy on their respective assignments, but Hawke noticed him crossing the hangar on long, ground eating strides, and jumped agilely down from the ladder where he had been balanced, as he worked at a nut on the main rotor of the Hughes he was working on.

"What happened to you? Taking a bath on my time too now?"

Something in Santini's tone alerted the younger man to the fact that he was no longer teasing.

"Cait had a little accident with the bucket …. Going for some lunch?" Hawke asked, glancing briefly at his watch, and noting that it was a little early, even for Dominic Santini, to be answering the call of his growling stomach.

"No. Got an errand to run," Santini snarled.

"Dom?" Hawke noted his old friend's tight expression and the stiff way in which he was standing, and frowned. "You ok?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Sure," Santini snapped.

"Dom," Hawke narrowed his eyes now and regarded his friend with a tight expression.

"Don't you have work you should be getting on with?"

"Yeah."

"Then get to it." Santini snapped again.

"Need a hand?"

"No. I can manage. I ain't so old I can't run an errand now and again without you holding my hand."

"What's eating you?" Hawke demanded gruffly, wondering what it was that had put the old man into such a sweet temper all of a sudden.

"_**You**_!" Santini gave the younger man a hard prod in the centre of his chest to emphasis his words. "You and your damned questions! _**I'm**_ the boss around here, mister, and I sure don't have to answer to_**you**_ for my every move!"

"Nobody said you did, Dominic," Hawke growled, taking a defensive step back, wondering what had gotten into his old friend, and desperately trying to keep a lid on his own angry reaction to Dom's prodding him in the chest.

"So keep your nose out! That Hughes ain't gonna fix it's self."

"Whatever you say. _**Boss.**_**.**"

"Yeah, whatever _**I**_say. Watch your step, String, else you might get a little something extra with your pay cheque this month. Like a pink slip."

With that as his parting shot, Dominic Santini marched with an angry bearing across the hangar, his body rigid and his shoulders set in a tight line as he made his way to the Santini Air jeep, which was parked just outside, and drove away with a screech of tires that set Stringfellow Hawke's teeth on edge.

"What the hell is going on?" Hawke muttered to himself, knowing that Dominic Santini's behaviour was unusual, even for him.

When the old guy got a bee in his bonnet, he could be as cantankerous and moody as the next guy.

That hot Latin temper of his, but, in fairness, he usually had a damned good reason.

Like, some young fool he worked with, causing him heartache or giving him a headache with his own unpredictable moods.

For the most part, his fuse was short and so was the explosion that followed, quickly burning it's self out.

This looked to be a different matter.

Something, that had caused a long, slow burn.

Obviously the old geezer had been stewing on something for a while, and Hawke had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, catching the full force of Santini's wrath.

Hawke hadn't seen his old friend look like that for a very long time.

For the life of him, Hawke could not think what could have upset his old friend so badly.

Surely not their teasing of earlier on?

He was used to that by now. Encouraged it even, knowing that it helped to relieve the tensions and helped them all to bond as a team.

No, it couldn't be something as silly as that.

And yet, something, had upset the old guy, and that was for sure.

Frowning and scratching absently at his head, Hawke went over the events of the morning, as he sauntered over to the coffee pot and poured himself a fresh mug.

As he took a sip of the thick, strong, black brew, it suddenly hit him.

The only conversations he had had with Santini that morning had been about the Lady.

And Ginny McBride's mother.

Eve Archer.

Well, it couldn't be the Lady.

Dom was crazy about that machine, but he knew that she wasn't really theirs to keep forever.

No.

This little outburst wasn't about the Lady, or, the possibility that they had flown their last mission for the Firm, Hawke was sure of it.

There was only one thing this could be about.

Eve Archer.

And Stringfellow Hawke was even more intrigued than he had been the previous evening, when Ginny had told him that Dominic Santini had served with her in Korea.

Intrigued, and curious, to discover what it was about that particular lady that had gotten his old friend so badly bent out of shape.

Yet, even as he stood there, Stringfellow Hawke knew that he could not ask Santini straight out. He was likely to get his head chewed off and handed back to him in a paper bag, the mood the old coot was in.

But, could he risk asking Ginny McBride either?

She hadn't been particularly forthcoming with information at dinner last night.

Maybe she didn't have any idea what kind of relationship her mother had had with Dominic Santini.

And Hawke could only guess, knowing the man.

Dominic Santini was not normally an irrational man, and he didn't go off at the deep end over people he didn't care about.

There was definitely more to this than met the eye, Hawke reasoned to himself as he took another sip of his coffee, and, he also reasoned, it was about more than a passing acquaintance with a nurse he had once served with in Korea.

As he took another sip of his coffee, Stringfellow Hawke recalled Ginny's words to him last night, about not being here to hurt Dominic Santini.

Yet, it seemed, without even physically being there, that was indeed what she had done.


	6. Chapter 6

"You got plans for Easter?" Caitlin O'Shannessy asked Stringfellow Hawke, as they stood drinking coffee, huddled inside their coats inside the cold Santini Air hangar.

The holiday was only a couple of days away, but Hawke had not given it any more thought.

He generally spent it with Dominic Santini, up at the cabin, a quiet, peaceful and restful weekend away from work and the city, fishing, playing the cello and lounging around doing absolutely nothing, but, now that he had met Ginny, he had fleetingly thought that they might do something together. However, until Dominic Santini deigned to tell him what was happening with the flight to Reno, he had put off asking Ginny what she would like to do.

One thing was for certain. He wouldn't be going up to the cabin with her. Her confession to a fear of heights and claustrophobia had put a definite end to any ideas he might have had of taking her up to his lakeside home for a quiet, romantic weekend.

Hawke shrugged non committally in reply to Cait's question and buried his nose in his mug.

"You and Mr Right made up your minds yet?" he asked, after swallowing down several gulps of coffee.

"Roger," Caitlin glowered at him before continuing. "And I thought we might take a picnic out to the beach after church on Sunday. He and some of his friends are organising a beach volleyball tournament. You and Dom would be welcome to join us," she offered then, regarding her colleague with wide eyed and open curiosity.

"Thanks for the offer. Can't speak for Dom. I'm still waiting for him to let me know if he's going to take Nancy to Reno, or if I'm doing that trip," he sighed deeply.

"What's going on with you and Dominic, Hawke?" Caitlin asked with genuine concern now.

Hawke merely shrugged once more.

He knew that she had witnessed the strange exchange between Dominic and himself yesterday morning, and he knew that it must have cost her dear to have kept her thoughts to herself for this long.

"What did you do?"

"What makes you think _I _did anything?" Hawke growled back at her now, scowling.

"Well he doesn't normally get all riled up like that for no reason," she pointed out quickly.

"I know that," Hawke sighed deeply.

"So?" Cait raised an accusing eyebrow.

"Hey, don't look at me!" Hawke's scowl deepened. "I didn't do anything."

"Oh?"

"You know, Cait, it does my poor old heart a power of good to know you have such a high opinion of me," he snarled sarcastically, his handsome features darkening, as he glowered at her.

After his hasty, and somewhat angry departure from the hangar yesterday morning, Dominic Santini had not returned, leaving Stringfellow Hawke deeply concerned, and more than a little irritated with the older man's unusual behaviour.

It had also left him in a bit of a dilemma as to what to tell Ginny McBride when he had picked her up for their date.

In the end Hawke had decided to say nothing and she had wisely refrained from asking him if he had told Dominic Santini about her visit to the hangar.

They had had a very pleasant evening at The Pub, and then Ginny had asked if he would take her to the beach so that she could walk amongst the dunes and see the stars and watch the surf, and he had willingly obliged.

When he had returned her to her motel room just after midnight, kissing her lightly on the cheek and thanking her for another pleasant evening, Ginny had gently taken his hand and drawn him over the threshold, pushing the door closed behind him, as she twined her arms around him and pulled him close to her, kissing him so ardently, it left him in no doubt as to her true intentions.

The passion that had burned between, them soon after, had taken Hawke's breath away, and left him feeling giddy and speechless, and happier than he could recall in many a long day.

As he lay with Ginny cradled in his arms, sleeping peacefully and quietly as she nestled against him, her soft regular breath tickling his ribs, sleep the furthest thing from his own mind, Stringfellow Hawke could not believe his incredible good fortune.

However, as sleep continued to elude him, inevitably, his thoughts returned to Dominic Santini, and his completely uncharacteristic and irrational behaviour earlier that day.

Even now, in the cold hard light of day, it still did not make any sense to Stringfellow Hawke, and he was genuinely worried about his old friend.

"I don't know what's gotten into the old buzzard, Cait, but I sure hope he snaps out of it soon. He's liable to do something real dumb. Like fire me."

This brought a smile to Caitlin O'Shannessy's lips now.

"Never happen," she assured him.

"Ya think? That's not what he said yesterday," Hawke sighed deeply then.

"That was yesterday. Probably walk in here all sweet tempered and apologetic and things will be back to normal in five minutes flat," she reassured.

"What world do you live in, Caitlin?" Hawke regarded her with amused puzzlement.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Cait demanded now, anger dancing in her grey eyes, and her hands planted firmly on her narrow hips, emphasised by the pristine white coverall she was wearing this morning.

"It means, that I know Dominic Santini a damned sight better than you ever will," Hawke sighed deeply. "When he's got a bee in his bonnet, he's like a dog with an old bone. He just won't let it go. Gnawing away at it, until he gets it out of his system. If you've got any sense Cait, you'll keep your head down, get on with your work, and keep out of his way," he advised sagely now.

"My money says he'll be like a mean old grizzly bear when he gets here, and it won't get any prettier until he's worked it out in his head. Whatever _**it**_is," Hawke warned now, a serious expression on his face.

"I haven't seen that look on his face in a while. Not since he accused me of treating him like an old man, and making out like he was too old for all this. That he was past his prime. He got himself all worked up and bent out of shape then too," Hawke recalled now with a wistful look.

"And did you think he was too old?"

"Hell no!" Hawke shot back quickly. "I was just worried he'd end up killing himself. Even _**I**_thought twice about doing the stunt they were asking him to perform, Caitlin,"

She arched an eyebrow in enquiry and he let out a soft sigh.

"It was crazy Cait, completely crazy. They wanted him to land a helicopter on a moving truck. Even I had to stop and think about it. And not because I doubted my ability to do it, and get it done safely, but because, even at my age, I know my reflexes aren't as good as they were when I was nineteen," Hawke reasoned and Caitlin nodded gently, seeing the sense in what he was saying.

She knew that even the most competent and self confident of pilots would have given pause before agreeing to risk their neck just for a stunt for the movies or television.

"But Dominic didn't quite see it that way. He thought I was betraying him. Undermining his ability and destroying his reputation in the business."

"Poor Dom."

"Oh, please! Don't spend too much time feeling sorry for him. Dom likes to share his pain and misery. Get too close, and you could get burned alongside me, Cait."

Hawke noticed her worried look now and forced his lips to form a soft smile.

"And don't worry over me either. I can take it, Cait. Whatever, he dishes out. We've been here before, Dom and I. Many times over, and no doubt we will be here again and again and again. That's what friends do. They beat up on each other, emotionally, from time to time. To show they really care."

"Geez, that must be a guy thing," Cait pulled a sour face.

"Well now, it wouldn't be the macho, manly thing to do, to kiss and make up," he smirked now.

"No, I suppose the macho, manly thing to do would be to punch each other's lights out, then go out for a few beers afterward," Cait sighed.

"Welcome to my world," Hawke chuckled softly then. "It wouldn't be the first time Dom's taken a swing at me," he raised his right hand to his jaw and rubbed at it gently, still recalling the punch Dom had caught him, with when the old guy had gotten it into his head that his young friend had lost his faith in his abilities to still cut it as a pilot.

"We worked it out," Hawke told her now. "It's what we do, Cait. Guess it's just our way."

"Did you ever stop to think that there might be some other way? Like sitting down and talking things through?"

"That's the girlie thing to do," Hawke grinned then. "C'mon, we'd better be looking busy when he does get here. Might soften his mood a little, if he sees us hard at it."

"I'm not the one he's mad at," Cait reminded him, draining the last drops of her coffee.

"No, but that won't make any difference when he's handing out pink slips."

At that moment, they heard the sound of a car door slamming shut and looked at each other knowingly.

"On the other hand," Cait set down her mug, and grinned impishly at Hawke. "No harm in buttering up the boss, is there?"

"No. No harm at all," Hawke agreed as he watched Cait grab the toolbox off the work bench and make her way across the hangar toward the Bell Jet Ranger, which was scheduled for routine maintenance today.

One look at Dominic Santini's face as the old man strode purposefully through the hangar and out toward the back office, without so much as a word to either of his employees, told Stringfellow Hawke that his old friend's mood had not improved any, and he let out a deep sigh.

"Yeah," Hawke growled, picking up Cait's mug and depositing it in the sink beside the hot plate before returning to the workbench. "Welcome to my world!"

Pulling the big diary which was lying open on the desk before him closer, to see what, if anything was scheduled for the day, Hawke mumbled to himself.

"Dominic, Dominic, Dominic. What are we to do?"

There was no stunt work scheduled for today, Hawke noted, and for once was relieved.

Stunt work required them to work in perfect harmony, as a team, watching each other's back, and it called for precision and unwavering concentration and attention to detail.

It wasn't something to be involved in when the two of them were at odds with each other, and had other things on their minds.

Not that they couldn't put these things behind, them for the sake of safety and professionalism.

There were three lessons booked for later in the day, one mid morning, in the Hughes helicopter Hawke had finished working on yesterday, with a regular client, Tom Shepherd, who would only trust his body and soul to Hawke's skills as an instructor, one in the Cessna, just before lunch, Cait's novice, Mr Henry McGee, who was fast becoming a regular, however, Hawke suspected, not actually for the flying lessons, but for the opportunity to ogle the pretty lady in the seat next to him, and one later this afternoon, in the Leah, which Dom would normally take.

A relatively quiet day then, Hawke surmised silently to himself.

"Ok my friend," he sighed softly. "We'll play it your way, for now, but I'll only let you stew for so long, and then you and I are going to have this out. Oh yes. Like it or not, you and I are going to get to the bottom of this."

Hawke let out another shoulder raising sigh and cast a wary glance over his shoulder toward the back office.

"It's for your own good, old friend. You can't go on like this, else you'll give yourself a stroke. So, make the most of it Dominic, because the count down has begun."

Hawke glanced down at the luminous dial of his watch and noted the time.

He would give Dominic until lunch time.

Four hours from now.

Twelve thirty.

Plenty of time for Dominic to work out his temper, and get back to being his usual jovial, sweet natured self, and for Hawke to conclude his lesson in the Hughes, with Tom Shepherd.

After that, well ….

_**Hold on to your underwear kids, because it's gonna be a bumpy ride!**_

"I'm sorry, Hawke! Real sorry," Tom Shepherd told Stringfellow Hawke for what seemed like the thousandth time, as Hawke set the aging Hughes helicopter smoothly down on the tarmac outside the Santini Air hangar, and let out a silent sigh of relief. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, Tom. You said," Hawke drawled sardonically and turned off the engine.

"I don't know what happened."

"You need to relax, Tom," Hawke advised.

Hawke had been forced to take over the helicopter's controls when his pupil had become disorientated and lost sight of the ground, almost sending them crashing to earth in a spiral dive, instead of climbing as Hawke had directed.

It had been a serious error, one that had obviously upset the older man, and had given Hawke himself a brief moment of anxiety, until he had righted the Hughes and pulled back on the stick so that it would gain altitude.

"I could have killed us both!" Shepherd gasped, all colour draining from his flaccid face, as the two men remained seated in the chopper while the main rotor slowed and finally came to a halt.

"But you didn't," Hawke reasoned in a low voice.

"Only because of your quick reflexes!"

"That's what I'm here for. To instruct, and to take over if I think you are in difficulty."

"Gee, Hawke, I'm not so sure I could be so, damned reasonable and polite, if I were in your shoes. Christ, Hawke, my whole life flashed before my eyes!" the older man groaned. "And let me tell you, it wasn't pretty! I must be crazy! Don't know what the hell I was thinking. What the hell made me think I could become a chopper pilot?"

"Calm down, Tom. You were doing just fine," Hawke reassured. "Every pilot experiences a loss of orientation at one time or another. Even me. You took your eye off the ball for a moment. We all do it."

"Except that not everyone does it and ends up crashing in a ball of flame!"

Tom Shepherd was shaking badly now, and Hawke fleetingly wondered if the guy was going to have a full blow stroke, or maybe a heart attack, right there and then.

"I would never let that happen to you. To us," Hawke assured the older man now. "I don't have a death wish, Tom, and if I didn't think you could handle it, there is no way I would let you anywhere near the controls of this thing. What you should do now, is go straight back up there," Hawke advised sagely.

"Are you mad?" Tom Shepherd gaped at him, the look on his face plainly saying that he thought that Hawke had taken complete leave of his senses.

"No. You need to get your nerve back."

"Get my nerve back? Dammit, Hawke, every damned nerve in my body is shot to hell! What I need is a drink! Or several …."

"Tom, if you don't go straight back up now, we both know you never will."

"And I'm sure it will be no great loss to the aviation world, Hawke. Face it, buddy, I'm not cut out for this. The next time my wife has some bright idea about giving me flying lessons for my birthday, I'll make her damned well eat them and take the scissors to her damned check book!"

And with that, Tom Shepherd made a hasty and less than graceful exit, almost falling out of his seat beside Hawke in the Hughes, before breaking into a run as he hurried across the tarmac to where he had parked his car.

Stringfellow Hawke let out a deep sigh and rolled his eyes heavenward as he watched Tom Shepherd's beautiful silver BMW screech away from the hangar.

_**Rich guys!.**_

More money than sense.

_**And their wives were even worse.**_

Of course, Stringfellow Hawke was in complete agreement with the man and his assessment of his flying skills. He wasn't cut out for it. He had absolutely no aptitude for flying, and was terrified out of his skin.

However, Hawke had begun to admire him, for he had somehow managed to put that fear behind him and had actually begun to enjoy the feeling of being in control of the Hughes.

Until today.

_**Oh well ….**_

_**Maybe he should have stuck to golf!**_ Hawke thought sourly as he slipped out of the cockpit of the Hughes and took off his flying shades as he crossed the tarmac toward the hangar.

_**Oh happy day.**_

Hawke let out another deep sigh.

Dominic Santini wasn't going to be very pleased about losing a regular client.

No doubt he would think that Hawke's sour moods had had something to do with the guy giving up so suddenly.

That was all Hawke needed right now.

"What the hell did you do to that poor guy?" Caitlin O'Shannessy asked, wrestling with a grin, and around chewing on a salad sandwich, as Stringfellow Hawke sauntered into the hangar at last.

"Me? I didn't do anything, Cait, except stop us from crashing into the ground in a ball of flame."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"He lost it, huh?"

"He was actually doing ok, until he lost sight of the horizon and became disorientated."

"And he freaked."

"Yeah. He freaked."

"Good thing you were there to save the day then," Cait chuckled at the pained look on Hawke's handsome face. "Is he coming back?"

"I doubt it very much. I think he was heading for the nearest bar. Probably need fishing out of a bottle of Jim Bean in about week's time."

"Think he realises he won't get a refund?"

"Mood he was in when he high tailed it out of here, I really don't think he'd care. I guess he just realised that flying can be a pretty dangerous business."

"Ya think?"

"I don't think he'll change his mind in a hurry, even when he sobers up," Hawke smiled now. "Dom in the office?"

"No."

"Oh?" This news drew Hawke's features down into a frown.

"He left about a half an hour ago," Cait elaborated when she saw the look on Hawke's face.

"And?" Hawke prompted.

"Said he took a call from someone, a doctor I think, some kind of medical emergency. Turns out they've got some kind of epidemic up in the mountains and needed someone to take up emergency supplies of antibiotics fast. I'd finished the work on the Bell Jet Ranger, so Dom took off in that. The doctor had arranged with a friend of his to get the stuff they needed, so Dom had to go to Northridge Hospital to collect it. Didn't say how long he would be gone, but, he did ask me to call Joe Castle and cancel his lesson in the Leah this afternoon.

_**Damn**__._ Hawke thought silently to himself.

"Was he in a better mood?"

"Can't say I noticed. Didn't say too much, just that he had this rush job on and would be gone for a while, and would I take care of cancelling his lesson with Joe."

"How did he look?"

"Like he was chewin' on a hornet."

"Terrific. Did he say if he would call in when he got to wherever it is he was going?"

"What's with the twenty questions?"

"Cait?" Hawke pinned her with one of his no nonsense glares now. "Did he?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's something," Hawke sighed deeply in relief.

"He'll be ok," Cait asked as she took another bite of her lunch, but Hawke wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement from her tone of voice.

"He'll be fine. Probably just what he needed. Give him something else to think about."

"Still no idea what's bugging him?"

"No, Cait. Still no idea."

She made no answer, just continued to regard him with penetrating grey eyes as she chewed on another bite of her sandwich.

"You're really worried about him, aren't you Hawke?" she asked finally after taking a sip of coffee to wash down the sandwich. "Dominic?"

"Yeah, Cait. It's just not like him to get that riled, that quickly. Dom's fuse is short, yeah, and when he goes up, it's like Vesuvius blowing her top, but he calms down again pretty quickly. Gets it right out of his system and then its all forgotten, and he goes back to being his sweet, reasonable, jovial self. Always been that way."

"But this is different, right?"

"Yeah," Hawke confirmed. "I don't like it when he gets tight lipped and starts to stewing on thing. I'd planned to go in to the office and have it out with him when I got back from giving Tom his lesson."

"It'll keep 'til he gets back."

"Maybe he'll be over whatever it is when he gets back, and I won't need to take my life, and my ass in my hands," Hawke sighed softly watching as she took another bite of her sandwich, then reached out and picked up the other half and took a huge bite out of it.

"Hey, get your own damned sandwich!" Cait exclaimed, reaching out to try to snatch the sandwich back off him.

"Cait! Dammit, this _**is**_ mine!" Hawke chewed and glared at her. "You asked me to get cheese salad for you. This is just plain salad, hold the mayo," Hawke growled at her. "Is nothing sacred around here?"

"Sorry," she grew coy then, and offered him the other half eaten sandwich and he wrinkled his nose at her now.

"I suddenly lost my appetite. Any coffee going?"

Cait's apologetic expression told him that she had emptied the pot, to drink along with her sandwich.

"Great. This place is going to hell in a hand basket," he growled again.

"You mean, since I showed up here?"

"I didn't say that?"

"But it's what you meant."

"Cait!" Hawke regarded her with impatience and frustration, and an expression that told her to stop putting words in to his mouth, and being so damned sensitive.

"Eat your damned sandwich, and stop fishing for compliments. You know we like having you around."

"Most of the time," she finished for him, but he could see the bright twinkle of amusement shining in her eyes now.

"I'll make a fresh pot, shall I?" he let out a deep sigh of resignation now, and started walking toward the hot plate on the other side of the hangar.

"Nothing but the glorified tea boy around here, that's what I'm fast becoming," he grouched, as he walked over to the hot plate and started gathering together the things he needed to brew a fresh pot of coffee, while Caitlin O'Shannessy smiled softly at his antics.

"Don't you have a home to go to?" Dominic Santini greeted Stringfellow Hawke in a gruff, weary voice as he walked into the office after stowing the Bell Jet Ranger in the hangar for the night.

It was late, darkness having fallen several hours before, and Santini had felt sure that he would find the hangar deserted when he got back after his trip up North.

He was surprised to find the lights still on, and Stringfellow Hawke sitting with his feet up on the desk in the back office, wading his way through piles of paper.

"Sure I do," Hawke responded equally wearily, the last thing on his mind antagonising the old man again, but it seemed that his simply being there had already done that, and put Santini immediately on the defensive. "How was your trip?"

"Ok."

"Just ok?"

"Just ok."

"Dom …."

"Look, String, whatever it is you got on your mind, I don't want to hear it. I'm tired and hungry, and I need to take a shower before I meet Nancy for dinner," there was an angry, warning note in Santini's voice now. "Go home will ya."

"Dom," Hawke dropped his feet down off the desk and sat forward in his seat, pinning Santini with one of his no nonsense glares.

"I told you already, I don't wanna hear it!" Santini cut him off before he could continue, his voice raised, as his anger and his blood pressure rose as well. "And you can tell your new lady friend, I have no intention of seeing her. Tell her that from me. If she shows up here, I won't see her. I have nothing to say to her. Tell her I left town. Tell her, whatever the hell you like, but make it clear that I don't want to have anything to do with her!"

"Dom," Hawke deliberately kept his voice low and even.

"String, will you just do as I say!" Santini roared, hot, angry colour flooding into his rough old cheeks. "For once in your damned life, don't argue with me!"

"Dominic!" Hawke snarled, mostly to focus the old man's attention back on to him, instead of on the reason for his irrational rage.

Santini pinned him with an angry glare and Hawke drew in a long, slow, calming breath.

"I stayed to tell you that I got a call this afternoon. Cait will have to take the Reno job. Michael has something lined up for us. You and me and the Lady," Hawke glowered at Santini, who had the grace to look a little embarrassed and shamefaced now.

"What's up?"

"Seems there's some volcano about to blow a gasket, somewhere up in the North West, and the Firm was approached by a big University back East, needing a couple of dumb schmucks to risk their neck testing a new computer programme, and collecting data, when she lets go."

"Geez. Now I wonder why Michael thought about us?"

"We have something that nobody else does."

"Airwolf."

"Yeah. Airwolf. Look, Dom …."

"I'm sorry I laid into ya, kid."

"Sure you are," Hawke knew it was a half hearted apology, and that the reasons why Dominic Santini was so mad were still there.

However the look on Hawke's face told the older man that he wasn't convinced.

"Look, Dom, I don't know what's gotten you so twisted and bent out of shape, and frankly, I don't understand what's going on in your head these days, but, if you tell me that you can put it behind us, while we fly this mission …."

"You know I can," Santini assured. "You know I will."

"Ok," Hawke let out a deep sigh. "Cait isn't going to like being left out, or, having to go to Reno," he changed the subject quickly now.

"I'll tell her she can take Robbie."

"Roger," Hawke corrected. "His name is Roger, Dom, not Robbie."

"Roger, Robbie. Whoever. I'll tell her she can take him along, courtesy of Santini Air. She'll be ok."

Stringfellow Hawke gave him another look that said he wasn't convinced, then, the younger man rose slowly from his seat.

"You know, Dominic, I've known you for a lot of years. I thought I knew you pretty damned well too, but, the Dominic Santini I've seen around here for the past few days is a stranger to me. I don't know what's going on with you, Dom, but, if you need to talk?" Hawke offered.

"I'm ok."

"No, you're not ok, Dominic, and if you don't do something about it, you're gonna make yourself sick."

"It's nothing."

"It's a pretty big something, Dominic."

Hawke sighed and noted that the tight, angry expression had returned to his old friend's face.

"You've made it pretty clear that it's none of my business, and I never was interested in poking my nose in where is it wasn't wanted. But, you'd better talk it over with someone, Dom. Talk it over, and deal with it, old friend. 'Cos, if you don't, you're gonna give yourself a stroke, or something."

He paused for a moment to take in a calming breath before continuing.

"I don't know why you're so mad at me. I care about you, Dominic. I've always been there for you, just like you've always been there for me, and I worry about you. You don't have a monopoly on worrying over people you love. I've never seen you like this before, and it ain't pretty. It's not like you to take it out on the wrong people. Cait and I, well, you know how Cait and I feel, but, if you ever threaten to fire my buns again, I might just call your bluff, take you up on the offer. I'm not too old, or too proud for a career change."

It wasn't a threat, it was a simple statement of fact, and they both knew it.

Stringfellow Hawke didn't really need this job, he showed up day in and day out, because it suited him to do so. He certainly didn't do it for the money, drawing only a nominal salary because he had invested in Santini Air a long time ago, and Dominic had insisted that he get something in return.

"You all done?" Santini gave him an angry stare.

"Sure," Hawke sighed in exasperation, wondering if he should have saved his breath, because, it appeared that he had simply been making noises, most of which Dominic Santini would stubbornly ignore.

"Then you'd better get out of here. Wouldn't want to keep your date waiting any longer. Are you seeing, _**her**_?" Santini's mouth twisted into a nasty line as he spoke, and this raised Hawke's hackles now.

"She has a name, Dominic. Her name is Ginny," he snapped out gruffly.

"Are you seeing her?" Santini demanded, ignoring Hawke's obvious irritation.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"That means you are. She's only using you, to get to me. She'll only hurt you, String."

"Goodnight Dom."

Hawke said in a tight, angry voice, then turned his back on his old friend and walked out of the office, before he lost control of his temper completely, and said something that he would bitterly regret, unable to come to terms with his old friend's attitude.

As he left the hangar, Stringfellow Hawke could not help wondering if Dominic Santini would remember his promise to put whatever it was behind them so that they could fly the Airwolf mission.

He hoped so.

He truly hoped so.

Because, if he couldn't count on Santini for back up, maybe he would have to reconsider using Caitlin more often.

The thought stuck in his throat and made his heart feel heavy in his chest, but, Stringfellow Hawke could not help wondering if this could mean the end of the road for himself and Dominic Santini and Airwolf.

And he could not help wondering how things had gotten to this point when everything had been so good only a few days ago.

"String? Ginny McBride regarded the man sitting on the opposite side of the table curiously, wondering where and when he was lost in time.

Stringfellow Hawke had picked her up at her motel, dead on time, as arranged, and had then taken her to a very pleasant seafood restaurant that he knew, where they had shared a wonderful lobster dinner and then he had suggested that they go dancing once again.

They had returned to the bar where they had gone dancing that first evening, and had held each other gently as they moved slowly and rhythmically to the romantic music. No need for words, his arm gently circling around her waist, drawing her close as she rested her cheek against his chest.

When the musicians had finally taken a break before their next set, Hawke had held her hand and escorted her back to their table, ordering fresh drinks from a passing waiter, but then he had grown quiet, distant, lost in thought.

As she had watched his solemn expression, Ginny McBride had begun to wonder if he had had second thoughts about how quickly and how deeply they were getting involved with each other.

If, he had changed his mind.

If, he had had second thoughts, period.

She could understand that he might have some misgivings about the speed with which their relationship had developed.

Things had progressed more quickly than she might have anticipated, but, under the circumstances, and despite the fact that inevitably it would turn out to be a very cruel and selfish act, Ginny McBride had decided to go with the flow and see what happened.

And something very beautiful had happened.

She had found something even more precious than she might have hoped for.

She had fallen in love.

Sitting there, lost in deep thought, with such a serious expression on his dear, beloved face, Ginny wondered what was going through his mind.

If, he was building up to letting her down gently.

Trying to find the right words to tell her that maybe they should slow down a little.

However, his behaviour up to that point in the evening did not lead her to believe that he did not want to be with her any more.

That his feelings had changed.

That he no longer desired her, wanted her ….

As she desired and wanted him too.

No.

This was something else.

With tentative fingers, Ginny reached out across the table and laid her hand gently over the top of his, which had the desired effect of bringing him back from where ever he had been lost, and he regarded her in confusion for a moment before remembering where he was and whom he was with.

"Sorry," he dropped his gaze for a moment and then somewhat bashfully, looked back up at her, and gave her a radiant smile. "Guess I was miles away, huh?"

"Sure were," she confirmed with a gentle smile. "Want to talk about it?" She offered gently, stroking the back of his hand with long, delicate, pianist's fingers. "I'm a good listener."

"Actually," Hawke let out a deep sigh. "I was trying to figure out a way to tell you something. To break it to you, gently."

"Just say it, String. I'm a big girl, you know," she told him, feeling her heart sink.

So, she had been right.

"Well, you know that this weekend is Easter, right?" she nodded gently, frowning slightly now, because they were not the words she had expected from him.

"Well, I had all these wonderful, romantic plans," he smiled shyly at her across the table then, and watched her tilt her head slightly to one side, knowing that he had her full attention now as she regarded him thoughtfully.

"Sounds fine to me, so far," she smiled softly as she watched the expression on his face change then, growing regretful. "But, wait, I think I just heard the other shoe drop!" the smile grew slightly wider.

"Something came up. Something to do with work," he rushed on then. "I have to go out of town," Hawke told her softly, turning his hand over and capturing her fingers gently in his own.

It was true that he had briefly entertained the notion that he might take her up to the cabin, so that they could spend time alone together.

Then he had remembered Ginny's confession that she was terrified of heights and that she also suffered from claustrophia, and had realised that that pretty much ruled out getting her to go up to the cabin with him, as it meant a short flight in a helicopter.

He had also realised that Dominic Santini might thwart his plans by dropping the Reno trip on him at the last minute.

But Dom hadn't returned to the hangar to tell him his decision about Reno until after Hawke had taken the call from Archangel, about the mission up north to look down Mount Catherine's throat, as she built up a head of steam and prepared to let rip, and their priorities had changed.

"Its ok, String," Ginny told him softly now. "I understand," and she meant it. "We'll just have to make up for it when you get back."

"Sure," he gave her hand a gentle squeeze then.

"When will you be back in town?"

"Sunday. Maybe Monday."

They were scheduled to make the trip on Saturday, when it had been predicted by all the boffins, that Mount Catherine would be at her most active, without actually blowing her stack.

Hawke knew that the actual mission would probably only take a day, but there would be necessary maintenance when they returned Airwolf to the lair, and then they would have to deliver the information to Archangel, and go through the routine post mission debriefing.

"How long were you planning to stay in town?" Hawke asked now, realising that he hadn't given it much thought, taking for granted the fact that she was here to stay for some time.

At the very least, until she had been granted an audience with Dominic Santini.

"I can stay for a little while longer," she told him then, dropping her gaze to where his fingers were gently playing with her own. "There's not really much to go home for," she assured him. "And no rush to get there. Nothing, and nobody waiting for me."

She looked up then and gave him a soft, loving smile.

"Besides, I kinda like it here. I'd even thought about maybe trying to get a job here. Nothing fancy, or permanent, just something to help with living costs. This is LA right, lots of singers looking for musicians. Lots of bars looking for piano players."

"Lots of bars looking for waitresses," Hawke grinned.

"Been there, done that. I could waitress for the US at the Olympics, String. I'm no stranger to it," Ginny grinned. "But I'd rather play music," she grew hesitant then. "Besides, I haven't done what I came here for."

"To see Dom?" She nodded then in confirmation.

"To see Dominic Santini. I guess you told him about my coming by the other evening?"

Hawke nodded and she could tell from his expression that it had not gone well.

"And I take it he didn't exactly jump for joy," She sighed softly.

"He's been busy," Hawke offered, somewhat lamely.

"And he has a good friend, eager to make excuses for him," she withdrew her hand from under his then, and reached out to take a sip of her drink. "He won't see me, will he?"

Hawke shrugged.

"Level with me, String. Like I said before, I'm a big girl," she invited then, pinning him with a determined blue stare.

"No. I don't know what's gotten into him," Hawke sighed. "He's been in a very strange mood. Driving us all crazy. But, he simply refuses to talk about what it is that's bugging him."

"But, my guess is that it started when you mentioned my visit, and my mother's name."

"I guess. Why is it so important that you see him? I know you made a promise to your mother, but …."

"Curiosity," she smiled, but did not elaborate, hoping that he would not probe too deeply.

She had deliberately not made a big thing out of wanting to see Dominic Santini.

Hoping that Hawke would continue to accept that it was just a casual thing, a tying up of loose ends at the end of her mother's life.

Fulfilling a dying woman's wishes.

However, she could see that he was beginning to grow suspicious.

Beginning to ask awkward questions.

If only of himself, for now.

However, she suspected that it would not be long before he finally voiced those questions to her.

That he instinctively felt that there was more to all of this than she had told him.

And he would want answers.

Answers, which she knew he would not like one little bit.

Answers, which would destroy the tender feelings growing between them.

For he would not understand that she had held the whole truth back, merely because she had not wanted to hurt him, to spoil this unexpected and beautiful thing that was happening between them.

He would see it as a betrayal.

Yet, it was not.

The truth was that she the one seeking answers here too.

Answers, that to her, could mean the difference between life and death.

"Ginny?" Hawke probed gently now.

"Ok, I'm curious to know what he remembers of my mother. What he thought of her. That kind of thing," she told him on a soft sigh, dropping her gaze and pausing briefly to arrange her thoughts, before looking back up to find him regarding her patiently with soft, understanding, blue eyes.

"Since she died, String, I'm realising that I never really knew her that well, and I've learned a lot about the kind of woman she was, through other people's eyes. I think that is what she wanted, when she asked me to look all these people up. A kind of voyage of discovery, for me, learning about the real Eve Archer, the woman that she was before she was a wife and a mother."

Ginny watched Hawke's face as she tried to explain herself, and was rewarded by a smile and a gentle nod of understanding.

Hawke himself had undertaken a similar journey, when he had lost his own parents, and his main sources of information about them had been his brother St John, and of course, Dominic Santini.

"Well, thanks for being honest with me, String. I know this must put you in an awkward position."

"Kind of," he agreed. "And you've been so patient. I'm sorry I didn't have better news for you."

"I'm sure Mr Santini has his reasons."

She let out a soft, wistful sigh then, watching as the group of musicians began to return to their positions on the stage.

"But, Mr Hawke, believe it or not, he's not my main reason for wanting to stay," she reached out then, and ran the fingers of her free hand lightly down the line of his jaw. "Is that all right?"

Stringfellow Hawke nodded gently and captured her fingers now having both her fine boned hands in his, giving them both another reassuring squeeze.

"You don't need to ask my permission," he told her in a soft voice, turning one hand over in his so that he could caress her soft palm with his thumb nail.

"No, but I wouldn't want to assume, I wouldn't want you to think …. Look, String, I don't understand what's going on here. With us. All I know is that I like it. It feels, right, but …."

"Shhhh," Hawke reached out with his index finger and pressed it gently to her lips. "I like it too," he told her in a soft voice, just as the band struck up another slow, seductive number. "Hey, I think they're playing our song!" he smiled radiantly then. "May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss McBride?"

"I'd be honoured, Mr Hawke."

Hawke escorted her out on to the small dance floor and after twirling her around, pulled her gently into his arms once more, savouring the feel of her slender body against his own as they moved slowly in time to the music, and she relaxed against him, following his lead and resting her cheek against his chest once more, letting out a soft, contented sigh as she did so.

"Don't worry about, Dominic, I'm sure he'll come around," Hawke spoke in a soft, low voice into her hair. "Ginny, do you have any idea why Dom got so upset when I told him your Mom's name?"

"No," She murmured against his shirt.

"Do you know how well they knew each other?"

"No," She mumbled again.

"Were they …." Hawke faltered then, growing embarrassed.

"Are you asking me if they were involved?" she reluctantly lifted her cheek from his chest then, and looked up into his face. "If, they were lovers?"

"I guess," his handsome face took on a somewhat bashful expression now.

"I don't know. She didn't tell me anything like that, String. Just asked me to look him up, but," She let out a soft sigh now. "It's not like I haven't thought about it myself. I don't know anything for sure. But, from the way he's reacting, I can't help thinking that maybe there was something more than friendship between them, and that maybe she hurt him."

Hawke nodded.

After seeing Dominic's reaction, it made sense to him too.

"Let me talk to him again."

"No. No, look, String, I really don't want to cause you a problem with your friend. To cause any, friction, between the two of you."

"I can handle, Dominic," he assured her.

"But you shouldn't have to," she sighed and rested her cheek against his chest once more. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer, but I'd rather handle it in my own way. I don't want to come between you and your friend. Like you said, maybe when he's had some more time to think it over, he'll come around."

"Ok," he agreed reluctantly, with a soft sigh.

"Thanks. You're a good man, Stringfellow Hawke."

"So is Dominic Santini, when he's not acting like an irrational child that is!"

"Sorry kid, I guess you drew the short straw," Dominic Santini grimaced as he saw the look on Caitlin O'Shannessy's face, having just told her that she was going to have to fly the businessmen to Reno tomorrow afternoon, Good Friday.

"You and Roger will have a terrific time. Charge whatever you want to the rooms. I got it covered. Ah, c'mon, Cait," Santini implored now. "You know I don't have anything to do with picking the crew," he lowered his voice then. "When it comes to the Lady."

"Yeah, I know," Caitlin sighed deeply, casting a sideways scowl at Stringfellow Hawke's back, as he carefully checked the tension of the wires on the wings of a Vintage Gypsy Moth, and then turned her glare back on Santini.

"And don't gimme that look either," Santini wagged his finger at her now. "You know I can't tell you anything."

"Can you tell me when things are gonna get back to normal around here?" she arched an eyebrow at him now, planting her hands firmly on her narrow hips.

"Huh?" Santini acted dumb now.

"Dominic! I'm not blind. There's something going on between you two, and I don't mean something secret and dangerous and possibly life threatening, involving a monster black and white, kick ass helicopter either! I mean something, personal."

"It's nothing," Santini assured her, but she gave him another penetrating glare.

"Oh please!" Caitlin sighed when he refused to enlighten her further. "I am so tired of you guys treating me like a dumb kid! It's you two who need to do the growing up!" she hissed. "Whatever it is, is it really worth destroying what the two of you have? The years of friendship, and trust? Dammit you're family!"

"Yes. We are," Santini agreed, raising his eyes briefly to watch as Hawke continued to work on the Gypsy Moth, deeply regretting, as he did so, the harsh words that he had uttered the previous evening. "And sometimes, even family has their differences of opinion," he told her softly. "We've done our share of falling out over the years, kiddo. We'll …."

"I know," She stopped him with a raised hand. "You'll work it out. Would you like me to hold your coat while you knock his block off?"

"He told you about that?"

"Sure he told me. Told me it was how you two traditionally work things out. You wanna go beat him to a pulp, I wouldn't blame ya. Felt that way about him a time or two, myself!" She wrestled with a smile then. "Well?"

"It won't come to that," Santini assured her. "Violence doesn't always solve everything you know."

"Oh boy!" Caitlin groaned. "You kids gonna play nice, or what?" she asked sarcastically. "I don't wanna leave town with you two throwing your toys at each other like this."

"Cait, do us all a favour will ya. Keep your pretty nose out of it. Leave us to get on with it, and I promise you, when you get back from your nice romantic weekend in Reno with Robbie …."

"Roger," She corrected him with an exasperated sigh.

"Roger …. When you get back, everything will be back to normal around here."

"I don't know …."

"Cait, will ya just leave it be. Please. I'm not really mad at _**him**_, and he knows it. It's just …. Well, I can't really talk to him about it either."

"Can't you talk to me about it, Dominic?"

"No. Sorry kid. It's my problem," Santini confessed. "I don't mean to take it out on either of you, but you know what String's like, he has to keep pushing and pushing …."

"He cares about you, Dominic."

"Don't ya think I know that, kid? It's mutual, but like I said …. This is my problem, and I just can't talk to him about it."

"I hate to see you guys acting like this."

"I told you it will be all right, Cait, and it will be," Santini assured. "Now you and Rob …. Roger," he corrected himself as he saw the pained look return to Cait's face. "You guys have a wonderful time in Reno, and don't get losing your shirts!"

Santini grinned then, hoping that she would take him at his word about his relationship with Hawke being back on an even keel when she returned.

"Happy Easter kiddo!"

"You too, Dominic," Cait reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his warm cheek. "You too."

"It'll be ok kiddo," Santini assured her when she drew away from him, still regarding him with a troubled expression. "Really," he smiled confidently back at her.

"It had better be, because if you two are still actin' up when I get back, I'm gonna start banging heads together!"

"Everything set back there, Dominic?" Stringfellow Hawke asked through the microphone in his helmet, his tone cold and business like as he kept his index finger poised over the overhead switch that would engage Airwolf's main engine, and waited for Santini's reply.

The two men had driven out to the lair in the pitch blackness of the early hours of the morning, silent, each lost in their own thoughts, Hawke having left Ginny McBride, regretfully, with a fierce hug and a quick kiss to her soft cheek, on the threshold of her motel room, just after midnight, to return to the Santini Air hangar, spending an uncomfortable night on one of the cots out back.

Dominic Santini had joined him at the hangar at about four thirty in the morning, looking tired, and rumpled, and neither man had said more than a cursory good morning as they had climbed into the jeep.

"Everything's hot. All systems on line," Santini confirmed succinctly. "The new software seems to be running ok too," he informed.

Hawke had spent half an hour installing the software from the shiny compact disk that the University had had hand delivered to Archangel, and which Archangel had had Marella bring out to the hangar, before they closed it down for the night last night.

It wasn't a complicated procedure, but they had had to wait to see that the new computer programme was compatible with the rest of Airwolf's systems, and then run a diagnostic to make sure that it was running smoothly, and to allow Dominic Santini to grow familiar with what he was seeing so that he knew what to do and what was expected of him.

"You ok?" Hawke asked now, wondering what kind of reaction he would get.

"I'm good to go," Santini assured.

"I'll rephrase the question, are _**we**_ok?" Hawke growled.

"Sure we are," Santini said with a deep sigh. "So where are we off to today?" he changed the subject quickly.

"North West," Hawke replied, knowing that he would have to accept Santini's word, for now. "Mount Catherine's building up a head of steam even as we speak. Hopefully she won't blow her stack before we're through."

"Oh joy! Well, can't think of anything else I'd rather be doin' on a Saturday morning!"

"I can," Hawke growled again. "Ok, here we go," and with that he pulled up on the control console and Airwolf lifted gracefully up off the sandy floor of the cave.


	7. Chapter 7

"Home, sweet home," Dominic Santini's weary, and relieved voice sounded in Stringfellow Hawke's ear, via the link in their helmets, and the young man could not suppress a soft smile.

It had been one hell of a weekend, and he echoed the older man's sentiment.

It really was good to be home.

Hawke reached up now to check that all the overhead switches were off and then sat back in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment.

His ears were still ringing after the explosion that had accompanied Mount Catherine's eruption, and which had taken out their audio systems and affected Airwolf's instrumentation, briefly, forcing him to find a landing site in the foothills, and which had resulted in their meeting the folks from the township of New Gideon, and the Davenport mines.

_**Another good deed done**_**.** Hawke thought to himself with a soft sigh, but at least he and Dominic had gotten along.

Not a crossed word all weekend.

Hawke had taken it as a good sign.

The old man had been his usual sweet, even tempered self and Hawke had had to admit, if only to himself, that it was good to have his old friend back.

"You asleep up there?"

"No," Hawke responded succinctly to Santini's question.

"You sure? Sounds like it to me," Santini teased, having heard the grogginess in the younger man's voice.

"No time. Gotta get the ash and dust out of those fuel lines. Your little sweetheart here has been coughing and spluttering for most of the trip home."

"Ah, poor baby."

"Yeah. Poor baby," Hawke smothered a smile.

He still could not understand how a grown man could get so sentimental over a bunch of metal and wires and hydraulic liquid, but Dominic Santini treated Airwolf like she was the most special lady in his life.

And for the life of him, although he could not understand it, and did not always believe it, Hawke had found himself thinking on more than one occasion, that the Lady responded to that tenderness from the older man, in a way in which she did not always respond to him.

"Need to get the data we collected to the Firm, so they can analyse it and send it on to the University, and Michael's going to want a full run down on what happened up there in New Gideon."

"Yeah. He's gonna want reassuring that they won't go blabbing to the world about the Lady."

"Got it in one."

"What about that, huh, String? I can't believe that something like that could be happening to hard working people in my own country! Now some place like Russia, well …."

"Yeah. What about that …."

"Think those folks will be ok now?"

"I guess it's down to them, Dominic. They've made a start at least."

"Yeah. Hey String, what day is it today?"

"Monday, I think …." Hawke replied, stifling a soft yawn.

"Yeah. Me too."

"Why?" Hawke frowned.

"It means its still the holiday, kid. Happy Easter!"

"So it is. Happy Easter, Dominic," Hawke pulled off his helmet now and twisted around carefully in his seat. "Do you suppose Michael will be in the office today?"

"Sure he will, he practically lives there," Santini snorted, pulling off his own helmet now. "Spying don't stop, just because it's a holiday."

"But the University won't be working today, will it?"

"Guess not," Santini shrugged, running his hand over his head to flatten his hair down neatly.

"Good. That means we don't have to rush getting the data to Archangel. You had plans, right? You and Nancy?"

"Sort of," Santini grew coy then.

"Well, then I guess the maintenance on this baby can wait for a day or two. Let's get out of here and enjoy what's left of the holiday."

"You had plans too?"

Hawke immediately noted his old friend's tone of voice, and his reluctance to mention Ginny McBride's name.

"Nothing concrete," Hawke sighed.

"Nancy and I were going to have a cook out on the beach."

Santini's words immediately brought to mind the secluded little stretch of beach that he and the Hawke brothers had visited often in their youth, to hunt through the dunes for driftwood and then build a fire, while Santini fished in the frothing surf or laid thick, tender, juicy steaks or succulent crabs on a grill over the fire, and he smiled tiredly at the pleasant memory.

"You're welcome to join us," Santini invited, brightening a little. "I know she'd just love to meet ya."

"I'd love to meet her too, Dom."

"Well, you know the place." Santini chuckled.

"Yeah, I know the place, but maybe some other time. I think I'm just gonna get a little sack time, then, maybe call Ginny and invite her to dinner later. I didn't know how long this job was going to take, so I told her I would call her. She thinks I'm in Reno."

"Oh," Santini's tone of voice now, implied to Hawke that he was disappointed that the younger man had not followed his advice, and had continued to see the young woman, Ginny McBride.

"Thanks for the offer Dom, unless …. that invitation includes Ginny, of course?"

The look that settled on Dominic Santini's face told Hawke that it did not, and he let out a deep sigh.

"You ready to talk to me yet?" Hawke asked in as casual a tone of voice as he could muster.

"What do you think?" Santini snapped back.

"I think you're a stubborn old man, and right now I'm glad there's a console between us, because I can see your right fist is just itching to smash into my face," Hawke drawled, as he watched the older man's right fist clench tightly and then unclench, slowly, before Santini lowered his arm down by his side.

Santini reached out now and popped open the door and began to haul his bulk out of the seat in the rear compartment, effectively putting an abrupt end to the conversation.

Stringfellow Hawke rubbed his tired eyes and let out a deep sigh, watching the older man stalk across the cave toward where they had parked the jeep.

He let out another deep sigh, realising that he was going to have to do some serious bridge building, if he was going to survive the drive back to the city.

"Look, Dominic, I don't know what this is all about," Hawke said as he climbed out of Airwolf and followed the older man across the cave, his boots sending up little eddies of sand as he did so.

"No String, you _**don't**_know," Santini growled now, a clear warning in his blue grey eyes as he turned around to face the younger man.

"Surely your beef is with Eve Archer, not her daughter?"

"Let's not do this right now, String. We're both tired."

"Dominic, I don't understand why you can be so damned angry with someone you haven't even met yet," Hawke sighed impatiently, raising his hand to rub gently at his brow where a headache was beginning to make its self felt.

"Leave it."

"Ok," Hawke sighed again but the look he threw at Santini told the old man that they would continue this conversation, some other time, because Hawke was determined to get to the bottom of what was riling the older man. "She's a nice lady, Dom."

"Well, I guess I know where _**you**_stand," Santini waved his finger in the young man's face now.

"Hey, I'm not taking sides here, Dominic!" Hawke warned, taking a defensive step backward from the old man. "But, like I said, I don't know how you can be so mad at someone you never met. All she wants is to meet you. To maybe get to know her mother better, by hearing what you have to say about her, what you remember of her," Hawke offered the same explanation that Ginny McBride had offered to him.

"She's better off not knowing my opinion!" Santini snapped. "Now leave it be, will ya."

"Sure, Dom," Hawke walked wearily around the front of the jeep now. "You did good. Up there," He deliberately kept his tone light and genuine as he slipped into the passenger seat of the jeep.

"Thanks. You too kid," Santini's smile was tight and forced now as he kept his focus on the beautiful shark like, black and white, kick ass helicopter, as Caitlin had called her, illuminated by floodlights in the centre of the cave.

"We're a good team."

"Sure we are."

"Dom," Hawke tried again, but could tell from the set of the older man's shoulders that he was wasting his breath.

"Lets go home," Santini refused to look at the younger man as he switched on the jeep's engine and stepped on the gas pedal, remaining silent and sullen for the whole of the journey back to the Santini Air hangar at Van Nuys Airport.

When it became clear to Stringfellow Hawke that the older man had clammed up, the younger man pulled on his flying shades, hunkered down in his seat, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes, hoping to catch a little shut eye, but his mind was too full of questions about what was upsetting his oldest and dearest friend, and what he could possibly do to help him.

And what had really brought Ginny McBride all the way out here from Milwaukee to see the old man.

He was missing something.

Hawke was sure of it.

Yes.

There was more to all of this than met the eye.

And Hawke was determined to find out what.

"Hey, you clean up pretty good, Mr Hawke," Ginny McBride reached up and pressed soft warm lips to his newly shaved cheek and smiled cheerfully at him, as she greeted him at the door to her motel room.

After managing a couple of hours restless sleep, Hawke had called Ginny and told her that he would be by in a little while to pick her up, and that she should wear something pretty.

He had dressed in his best brown suit and paired it up with a deeper brown neck tie and a white checkered shirt.

"You don't look so bad yourself," he complimented her, bending slightly to brush his lips against hers.

She had selected a pretty pale blue dress that dipped in at the waist, and emphasised her petite figure and had married it up with a white floaty chiffon scarf around her throat, and white open toed sandals.

Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower, making it look darker, almost like molasses, and she had secured it in the nape of her neck with a silver coloured barrette.

She was wearing make up today, a pale pink gloss on her lips, a light dusting of powder and blusher on her cheeks, and a little light colouring over her eyelids, a pale blue to highlight her lovely cobalt blue eyes, but even to Hawke's unpractised eye, this did not conceal the fact that she looked pale and tired, her eyes bloodshot, almost as though she had been crying.

He recalled the day that they had met, and her fainting spell and could not help wondering if whilst he had been away, she had not been taking proper care of herself.

"So, where are we going?" she asked as he helped her into the back of a bright yellow taxi cab.

"Wait and see," he smiled coyly at her. "It's a surprise."

He climbed into the back of the cab and sat beside her, tucking her neat hand into the crook of his arm as he gave the driver an address.

"How was your trip?"

"Tiring," Hawke smiled.

"Mmmm, I thought you looked a little …."

"Beat?"

"Weary," she amended.

"What about you?"

"I'm fine …."

However, the look he gave her told her that he wasn't buying it.

"Ok, I've got a headache, that's all," she smiled reassuringly, and he arched an eyebrow. "I'm fine," she reassured once more. "An afternoon in the fresh air and sunshine will do me a power of good," she gave his arm a quick squeeze. "And then maybe an early night," She grinned charmingly and he could not misunderstand the devilish twinkle in her lovely deep blue eyes.

Hawke found himself grinning back at her.

As their journey progressed, Ginny McBride hardly took her eyes off Stringfellow Hawke's face, at first because she had missed him while he had been away the past couple of days, and wanted to drink in his handsome, chiselled features, his intelligent, sapphire blue eyes, and his oh so rare, but heart stoppingly beautiful smile, but, as the taxi cab ate up the distance between her motel and their destination, Ginny began to notice that his expression was changing.

Growing more serious.

Stern.

Tight.

Anxious.

Angry.

His mood had changed too.

She could feel it like electricity in the air, swirling around them, highly charged and intense.

She could feel the tension in every muscle and sinew in his arm as she held on to him.

"String?" She spoke in a soft, appealing voice, drawing his piercing blue eyes down to her at last.

However, before she had a chance to voice the question on her lips, the taxi swung off the main road and came to a stop.

"We're here," Hawke said with a forced smile and opened the door, sliding out into the sunshine quickly, and holding out his hand to help her to alight from the back of the cab.

As Hawke paid the driver for their ride, Ginny McBride, shielding her eyes against the glare of a lovely mid afternoon sun, took in her surroundings.

They were at the beach, a secluded little stretch of endless golden sand, fringed by weed tufted dunes on one side and the swirling white foam of the outgoing surf on the other.

A flock of black and white sea birds circled and swooped, squawking noisily over head and on a soft breeze, which teased at her hair and the loose flowing skirt of her dress. Ginny could pick out the odours of burning wood and cooking food and realised that somewhere close by people were having a barbecue or a cook out, and she smiled softly.

The taxi pulled away slowly and Stringfellow Hawke walked purposefully up to Ginny, and taking her hand in his own, pulled her along behind him as he began to walk quickly along a narrow sandy path between the sand dunes.

As they reached the top of a small rise the whole panorama came into view, and as well as the beautiful, writhing blue ocean and the endless unblemished golden sand, Ginny McBride immediately spotted the patriotically painted Santini Air jeep, parked amongst the dunes, and her heart skipped a beat.

"String?" Ginny tugged on his hand, but her escort remained silent and determined, as he spotted two people further down the beach, standing around a cheerful wood fire. "String …."

Nancy Fitzgerald was having a ball.

Dominic Santini was a real sweetheart of a man, charming, funny, attentive to her every need, and he always had a story to entertain her with.

He was regaling her now with one of his adventures over Germany during the war, swigging beer from a bottle, and laughing heartily while she tended to the thick, juicy beef steaks, sizzling merrily on the grill over the driftwood fire he had built for the purpose.

Dominic had also set out a small rug on the uneven sand, on to which Nancy had set out small pots and tubs and jars of condiments, sauces, salads, paper plates and plastic cutlery, as well as a small wicker basket with burger baps and chunks of crusty garlic bread.

He was a nice man.

A good man.

A treasure of a find, especially at her age.

She didn't kid herself that she was a slip of a girl any more, and her looks had gone a long time ago.

But, she tried.

Making sure that her greying, faded red blonde hair was always neatly done, her clothes flattering, and suited to a woman of her age, and stature, and her makeup perfectly applied.

She carried a few extra pounds here and there, but then again, so did Dominic.

And it certainly didn't seem to bother him, when his mood turned amorous ….

However, the thing that Nancy Fitzgerald found most appealing about Dominic Santini was his good old fashioned sense of chivalry.

He was a real gentleman.

And, that here was a man who really knew how to have fun.

Every time she saw him, she lost a little more of her heart to him.

_**Silly old fool ….**_

_**No, make that, fools …. **_

_**The both of them!**_

_**Acting like a couple of teenagers!**_

But, it felt good to be so happy and carefree.

He made her feel so young.

He was telling her now about some escapade ….

If she was honest, she wasn't really listening, just enjoying seeing that wide, gap toothed smile on his lovely face, as he took a swig of beer and laughed and laughed ….

As she lifted her gaze to watch him again, after turning one of the steaks over so that it would cook perfectly on the other side, Nancy saw Dominic's face change, briefly.

A slow, wide, beautiful smile, filled with such love and tenderness and warmth, radiating out from his very heart, lit up the older man's face, his rheumy blue grey eyes twinkling brightly.

Curious to know what had put such a joyous and magnificent look on Dominic's face, Nancy followed his gaze and found that he was watching someone approach.

A young man, clad in a light brown suit, and darker brown neck tie, wading purposefully through, and stumbling occasionally, in the loose sand at the base of the dunes.

"String!" Santini raised his hand slowly and waved.

Then, just as suddenly, Nancy watched as Dominic Santini's expression changed again, as he realised that the young man was not alone.

A slender young woman, clad in a loose flowing pretty blue dress emerged from behind the young man, shoes dangling from her fingers as she struggled to maintain her balance in the loose sand, and keep up with the young man's longer strides.

She had obviously stopped to take off her shoes, and was now rushing to catch up with her friend.

Nancy Fitzgerald was puzzled by the look on Dominic Santini's face now.

Astonishment.

No, wait ….

_**Poleaxed.**_

Stricken.

Yes, like he had taken a blow to his solar plexus.

A gut punch.

It was an expression that she had heard used often, but had never seen it.

_**Poleaxed.**_

A frown began to mar Nancy's features, as she watched the stunned look on Dominic Santini's face slide into something else now.

Something ugly.

_**Murderous.**_

_**A murderous expression. **_

Again, something that she had often heard used, but had never thought to see it.

She could see it now, on Dominic Santini's face, and it turned her blood cold in her veins.

Such anger.

Such hatred.

_**Dear God, who were these people?**_

One he obviously loved so deeply.

The other he hated equally as passionately.

"Dominic?"

"Go sit in the jeep," he growled at her through clenched teeth, never taking his eyes off the young couple making their way toward them.

"What about all this?" she pointed to the various pots, plates and cutlery, but he remained stone faced.

"Leave it," he hissed. "It's not important."

"Dominic? What's going on?"

"Just do as I ask. Please," he hissed once again, and reached out to give her a gentle push. "Go on. I'll be right there, honey."

"I don't know what the hell is going on here, Dominic."

"I'll explain everything in a little while, but for now, please just do as I ask, Nancy."

Watching the tight expression on his face, and the anger burning brightly in his eyes, Nancy Fitzgerald nodded gently, reached out to give his gnarled old hand a tender squeeze, then letting out a soft sigh she turned around, walking away without a backward glance.

_**Silly old duffer!**_

However, she could not help thinking that whatever that was all about, it was serious.

She had never seen Dominic look so …. Angry.

Outraged.

His hot Latin temper barely under control.

Yet, even then, his first thoughts had been for her.

To spare her having to witness the ugly scene she just knew was coming.

As she walked away, Nancy Fitzgerald could not help feeling a little worried over Dominic Santini.

Anger like that, held under rigid control, couldn't be good for anyone's heart, or blood pressure.

But, she also silently blessed him for his thoughtfulness and consideration.

Dominic Santini did not take his eyes off Stringfellow Hawke and his companion, as they walked up the beach toward him.

In truth, no matter how hard he tried, he could not take his eyes off the young woman.

It was like he had been transported back to the past.

Korea.

Eve Archer.

Tall, slender limbed, willowy, shoulder length caramel coloured hair pulled back off her lovely heart shaped face and secured in her neck by pins or some such ….

Piercing blue eyes.

The girl could be her twin.

His heart was thumping against his ribs, and his fists were clenching at his sides as he watched them getting closer, oblivious to the scent of burned meat, as, left unattended, the steaks on the grill began to char and send up acrid blue smoke.

"Dominic," Hawke greeted the older man in a low, gruff voice, the look on his face equally angry, and determined, as the two men squared off.

"String," Dominic grunted.

"This is Ginny …."

"I know who she is," Dominic cut him off abruptly. "You just couldn't leave it be, could you?" he added with as much dignity and control as he could manage, despite the bitter bile rising in the back of his throat and the anger tightening his chest.

_**Betrayed once again by someone he loved..**_

"I wanted you to meet her. I wanted you to see …."

"I see," Santini sneered. "Oh yeah, I see …. And, now I've seen, I don't want to see no more …."

"Mr Santini?"

_**Dear God, she even sounded like Eve! **_Santini thought with a heavy heart and tears threatening in the corners of his eyes.

"Forgive my bluntness, miss, but you ain't welcome here," Santini sneered again, turning on his heel to kick sand over the flames of the driftwood fire now.

"Mr Santini …."

"I don't have nothin' to say to you," Santini pinned her with a cold, hard look then. "Nothing."

"Mr Santini. Please …. I …." Ginny stammered breathlessly, looking from Hawke to Santini and then back to Hawke in confusion.

"Dom, this wasn't her idea …."

"Oh, I know that, String. This is all your doin'. Got your finger prints all over it!" Santini snarled. "I can't believe you did this! _**You,**_ of all people. Guess I really don't know _**you**_anymore, either, and I can't bear to look at you anymore," his voice was low now, and throbbing with anger.

"Dominic," Hawke gave him an imploring look, but Santini just glared back at him, unmoved. "If you would just …."

"I'm going to leave now. Before we say, or, do something we'll both regret …."

"Dominic, be reasonable! Please," Hawke beseeched now, unable to comprehend his old friend's completely irrational and uncharacteristic anger.

Santini ignored the younger man now, concentrating as he kicked more sand on the dying flames of the fire and watched the smoke rising for a moment, before turning on his heel to scoop up the sand spattered rug and its contents, bundling them all together, as he marched without further comment, back up the beach toward where he had parked the Santini Air jeep.

"That went well …." Stringfellow Hawke sighed impatiently as he watched the old man's departing back, his rage evident in the stiff way he carried himself as he hurried back up the beach.

"You think?" Ginny managed in a small, choked voice and Hawke turned around to find tears cascading silently down her pale cheeks.

"Oh, Ginny, I'm sorry," he reached out for her then and pulled her into the circle of his arms.

"Why does he hate me so much?" she sobbed, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt, her slender shoulders shaking as grief consumed her and the hot tears flowed.

"I don't know," Hawke drew her closer, gently rubbing his hand lightly up and down her back comfortingly. "That's just it, Ginny, that's what I can't understand," he told her, bending to gently press his lips into the hair on the top of her head.

"It's just not like him. I've never seen him like this before …."

"God, String, what did she do to him?" Ginny sobbed, clinging to him. "What did she do to make him hurt so badly?"

"I don't know, honey, but I sure intend to find out."

In the distance Stringfellow Hawke heard the familiar rumble of the Santini Air jeep's engine as it caught, and then the screech of tires as the vehicle roared away from the beach.

Almost at the same time, Ginny disengaged herself from his embrace, her pale face awash with tears, and her lovely features arranged in an expression that Hawke had not seen on her face before.

Anger.

She pushed away from him then and fixed him with angry, accusing deep cobalt blue eyes.

"I asked you not to get involved," she said in a small, sad voice, and Hawke felt his heart grow heavy in his chest. "But, dammit, you couldn't resist playing Sir Galahad!"

He reached out then to try to take her hand, but she pulled it away quickly.

"No," She glared at him. "No!"

With that she turned on her heel and began to walk quickly up the beach in the same direction that Dominic Santini had departed in, and Stringfellow Hawke stood rooted to the spot, watching her go. Shoulders hunched, head down, her whole bearing one of misery and confusion.

Hawke let out a deep sigh.

He knew that she had every right to be pissed at him.

He had blown it.

_**Big time.**_

He hadn't thought it through properly.

Acted purely on impulse, torn between his need to help Ginny McBride, and to get to the bottom of what was bothering his oldest and dearest friend.

Yet, he hadn't expected Dominic Santini to react so angrily.

Hawke had hoped that confronted with Ginny McBride, in person, Dominic might find it in his heart to talk to the girl.

Maybe even realise that a few simple, well chosen, kindly words would be enough to satisfy her need to know more about the woman her mother had been, and then she would have been out of his life.

Forever.

And, maybe Hawke's life, too.

Hawke had never seen Dominic look like that before.

The very fact that he had remained so calm and controlled spoke to Hawke of the true intensity of the older man's anger.

His rage.

And Hawke knew that he had badly misjudged the situation, and the depth of his old friend's feelings.

_**Damn.**_

_**He was such a jerk.**_

Too late for regrets now. The damage was done.

Perhaps irreparably.

Hawke watched Ginny McBride stalk away from him, trudging through the loose sand, without so much as a backward glance, until she disappeared behind another large sand dune further down the beach.

He wondered if he should go after her.

Then he thought better of it.

She obviously needed time to herself.

He sat down heavily at the bottom of a dune and reached out, grabbing a fistful of the fine golden sand, allowing it to run through his fingers, only to be snatched away by the breeze, staring absently out to sea.

_**To see a world in a grain of sand,**_

_**And a heaven in a wild flower,**_

_**Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,**_

_**And eternity in an hour.**_

The opening lines of the William Blake poem, Auguries of Innocence, kept running through his mind, as the minute grains of sand ran through his fingers, and Hawke realised that he had as much control over the events in his own life, as he did over the fate of each of those grains of sand.

He had no idea how long he sat there, watching the movement of the ocean and the gulls circling, as they sought out whatever sustenance they could pick out of the churning waves, but, he was aware that the tide had turned, that the ocean was slowly encroaching up the beach, and that the breeze had picked up, turning chilly.

The sun would be going down soon.

If she didn't return in a few minutes, Hawke decided, he would have to go looking for Ginny.

Thinking about her made him turn his gaze back down the beach to where Ginny had disappeared, and his heart leapt in his chest when he spotted her making her way back toward him, slowly, laboriously, her movements slow and weary, as though her legs were heavy and would not carry her.

As he watched, her legs seemed to buckle beneath her, and she fell heavily to the sand.

Instantly Hawke was on his feet and sprinting down the beach toward her, dropping to his knees beside her lifeless body as she lay, face down in the soft sand, turning her over gently.

She was as limp as a rag doll in his hands, and he was appalled to see that her face was so pale it was practically colourless.

Her breathing was ragged and laboured, her lips turning blue as he slipped his arms under her shoulders and gathered her close to him.

Her flesh was cold, her arms, her hands.

Her head flopping lifelessly, as he pulled her upper body close to his own.

She let out a soft moan, and her eyelids began to flutter open.

"Ginny?"

"String," she tried to reach out with her hand to stroke his cheek, but her arms felt as though they were weighted down. "Cold," she murmured as she struggled to sit up, with his assistance.

Immediately Hawke shrugged out of his suit jacket and lifting her carefully put it around her shoulders.

The jacket buried her, but Hawke thought that was no bad thing, as he pulled it tightly around her shoulders and chest, gently rubbing his hands up and down her arms, encouraging the blood to flow and heat to return to her limbs.

"My God, Ginny," he gasped breathlessly, still shocked by what he saw, unable to stop himself from thinking that she might die, there, in his arms.

And for a moment, an image of Gabrielle, as she lay dying in his arms in the fierce heat of the Libyan desert, flashed before his eyes.

"I'm all right," Ginny forced her lips into a weak smile, to reassure him, and willing his heart to stop racing in his chest, and telling him self not to be so damned foolish, that this was not the same thing at all, Hawke noted now that she did indeed seem to be rallying a little now.

There were tiny spots of colour returning to her cheeks now and the sparkle was returning to her eyes.

"Liar," he breathed, cradling the back of her head and drawing her closer to him for warmth, and comfort and support, and as she buried her face into the fabric of his shirt, Hawke could feel her scalding tears soaking though the thin material.

"Ginny, this isn't just low blood sugar, is it?" he asked gently, easing her away from him so that he could look down into her pale, tear washed face.

"Sure it is. Just walked too far," she offered weakly.

"Ginny," He stopped her with a hard look now. "I want the truth."

"No!" Ginny reached up with shaking fingers to press them against his lips, silencing him and giving him an imploring look. "No, my love. You don't."

Her arms snaked up around his neck then and she pulled him close, not wanting to see the anxious, fearful, stricken look on his face, and the pain and confusion in his arresting blue eyes, resting her chin on his shoulder, letting out a deep sigh.

"Take me home," she whispered into his ear, a shiver running down her spine as the breeze tugged at her hair and her clothes.

"Can't," Hawke replied in a thick voice, his mind in turmoil as he tried to work out what was happening to her. For it was painfully obvious to him, that there was indeed something seriously wrong with Ginny. "Taxi won't be back for another half an hour," he confessed raggedly.

When he had paid the driver, he had asked him to return to pick them up in a couple of hours, giving him an extra large tip to encourage him to agree to return.

"That was clever," ,he murmured close to his ear, but there was no sarcasm in her voice.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I mean, it really was clever, thinking to ask him to come back for us," she drew back from his shoulder now and gave him a smile. "I don't think I could walk another step, and you'll break your back if you have to carry me back to the motel," she teased.

"No, Ginny, I mean, I'm sorry …. About all of this," Hawke sighed. "I'm a dumb sonofabitch!" he snarled in self deprecation.

"You did what you thought was right," she reached out now, with shaking fingers, to brush back a tendril of his hair, which the breeze had teased down onto his forehead. "You're not responsible for your friend's behaviour, String."

"I didn't know he would act that way, Ginny. Believe me."

"I do."

"I've never seen him like that. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know. Me, too."

Hawke's eyes travelled quickly over her face, taking in the big, tear filled, bloodshot, cobalt blue eyes, underpinned by dark smudges, in a bloodless face which had two small spots of colour on each cheek.

And saw something that almost stopped his heart dead in his chest.

Fear.

Whatever it was that had caused this sudden malaise, it had frightened her badly too.

"Ginny?" there was something in his expression, his tone of voice that simply tore at Ginny McBride's heart and she felt more hot tears stinging in her eyes now.

"Please, don't ask. I can't, not yet," she choked out now, wishing for all the world that she could reassure him.

That she could tell him the truth.

She loved him.

She was sure of it now.

And she felt sure that he loved her too.

It both gladdened her heart, and at the same time, broke it too.

The last thing that she had wanted was to hurt him.

But, it seemed that it was inevitable now.

"In time, I promise, my love, I'll tell you everything. _**Everything**_**,**" she promised solemnly, then dropped her head back onto his shoulder and wrapped her arms more tightly around him. "But right now, hold me, please. Just hold me."

Hawke responded by crushing her slender body close to his chest and cupping the back of her head with a strong hand he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

They held on tightly to each other for several long minutes, and then Hawke withdrew from her, but, only long enough to rise up and dust the sand from his clothes, before helping Ginny to her feet.

She wobbled unsteadily, and instinctively Hawke reached out to her and scooped her up into his arms. She slipped her arms around his neck and rested her head against the solid wall of his chest, as he carried her slowly and carefully back up to the roadside to wait for the return of their taxi.

They spent the journey back to Ginny's motel room in silence, Ginny snuggled up close to Hawke, and the sun was setting as Hawke helped her out of the cab and paid the driver, before scooping her up into his arms once more.

"Don't leave me," She implored, clinging on to him tightly as he opened the door to her room and carried her inside. "Please, don't leave me."

"No," he spoke in a hoarse, low voice, as he carried her into the centre of the room and laid her down gently on the bed.

"Love me," she implored, pulling him down after her. "Let me love you?" she begged, her fingers already busying themselves with the buttons of his shirt.

"Yes," Hawke breathed, allowing her to guide his lips to hers, in the most tender of kisses. "Oh yes …."


	8. Chapter 8

Stringfellow Hawke was not as surprised as he might have been to find the Santini Air jeep parked up outside the hangar, and the lights already blazing, despite the earliness of the hour.

It wasn't yet five o'clock in the morning, but Dominic Santini was already here.

With a heavy heart, Hawke ducked into the hangar, but he got no further than a few feet inside the door, before being greeted by the stiff, rigid, figure of Dominic Santini, blocking his way.

A quick glance around the hangar confirmed that the Leah was not stowed away there, and Hawke was relieved that Caitlin O'Shannesy was not yet back from the Reno jaunt, and would be spared the scene he knew was coming.

"Figured you'd show up early," Santini said in a cold, emotionless voice and tossed a medium sized black canvas bag at Hawke's feet.

"What's that?"

"Your gear."

"You cleaned out my locker?" Hawke arched an eyebrow in surprise.

"I did."

"You firing me?" Hawke growled.

"No. I figured you do the decent thing, and quit."

"I see," Hawke let out a deep sigh. "So, I'm supposed to fall on my sword?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

"I don't want you around here no more."

"Dominic," Hawke spoke more softly now, hoping to soften the older man's rigid, unbending stance.

"Take your things and go," Santini remained unmoved, his voice cold and emotionless, his gaze never leaving the younger man's confused face.

"Would it help if I said I'm sorry?" Hawke offered, desperately trying to find a way in through Santini's defences.

"No," Santini replied succinctly.

"I truly am sorry, Dominic," Hawke sighed softly.

"I don't care," Santini told him bluntly.

"I only want what's best for you."

"I still don't care."

"So that's it?"

"That's it."

"What about the Lady?"

"What about her? I lived without her for more years than I care to remember. I'll live just as well without her, _**and you**_**.** Life goes on."

"Dominic, I really am sorry. I didn't think it through. I thought that if you saw her …."

"Stow it! I told you already, I don't care. No get out of here, before I call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing."

"That's it? After all these years?"

"You should have thought about that before you pulled your little stunt yesterday."

"I thought I was doing the right thing."

"You were wrong."

"Dominic …."

"No, String. I've said my piece, now get outta here."

"What the hell has gotten into you?"

"Are you goin' or, do I have to toss you outta here?"

"Go ahead. If it'll make you feel better."

"It won't, but don't think I won't let it stop me either."

"Don't do this, Dominic. Don't do this to us."

"_**I **_didn't do anything to _**us**_, String. _**You**_ did. _**She**_ did! All over again. Setting Hawke against Santini all over again, and I can't go through it again."

"Setting Hawke against Santini?" Hawke frowned. "I don't understand."

"No, and you never will," Santini said flatly.

"Then explain it to me."

"No point. You won't listen."

"Try me," Hawke invited.

_**If, he could just get the old guy to open up to him, to talk to him ….**_

"I'm tired of wasting my breath," Santini let out a deep sigh of resignation now.

"Dominic …."

"Goodbye, String."

"Dominic? Dom? Dominic!"

The old man turned on his heel then, not wanting the younger man to see the heartache etched into his face and the tears glistening in his eyes.

It was tearing him apart to do this.

But, it was the best thing all around.

Santini had lain awake all night, thinking it through, and he had finally reached the conclusion that the younger man was simply too damned tenacious and determined and would never let it be.

Not until he had answers that made sense.

And so, it was up to him, Santini, to end it.

To walk away.

God knows it was nearly killing him.

But, it was better than the alternative.

To shatter everything that the young man held dear.

He'd suffered enough grief over the years.

Dominic Santini wasn't going to add still more to it.

And so, it was better this way.

Better to turn his back on the young man and walk away.

For good.

No matter how hard, how painful it was.

And how empty and pointless, it would leave his own life.

"Jesus! What the hell are _**you**_doing here?"

Dominic Santini demanded angrily as, emerging from the back office into the hangar, his intention to close up for the night and head off to his date with Nancy, a cosy romantic dinner for two over which he intended to apologize for his behaviour at the beach the previous day, he spotted the young woman, Ginny McBride, standing just inside the hangar doorway.

"I said everything that I'm gonna say to you yesterday."

"String told me about what happened, about what happened between the two of you this morning."

"That's between him and me."

"No. I don't think it is. I think it's got a whole lot do with me. And, with my mother."

"I'll tell you what I told him, I don't wanna see him around here no more."

"It's not fair to take it out on him, Mr Santini. He thought that he was helping me. Helping you, too."

"Well, maybe it will teach him to keep his nose out of things that have nothing to do with him."

"He loves you."

"No, he don't. If he did, he would have done as I asked, and stayed out of it."

"Out of what?"

"I want you to leave. Right now."

"Oh, no, I'm not going anywhere, until you talk to me. I want to know what it is that's gotten you so mad. You're willing to disown a man who has been like a son to you for more years than I can count. I want to know what all this has to do with me."

"Nothing. It don't have anything to do with you."

"Oh, no, I don't buy that," Dominic watched in alarm now as she swayed, reaching out to the hangar door to steady herself before continuing.

"I think it has a whole lot to do with me. With my mother. and I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me."

"Then you'll have a long wait! 'Cos, hell will freeze over first!" Santini told her defiantly.

"I'm sorry she hurt you."

"I don't care what you're sorry about."

"What did she do, to hurt you so much?"

"If you don't haul your butt out of here right now, lady, I'm gonna call the cops."

"Fine. Go ahead. In the mean time, while we wait for them to arrive, you can tell me what the hell this is all about."

"Why did you come here?"

"Because, it's tearing me apart to know that I'm coming between you and String," she let out a ragged breath, but the look on his face told her that he wasn't buying it, and that now was the time for straight talking.

"And, she asked me to," she added in a soft, sorrowful voice.

"Then you can just haul ass home, and tell her that you did as she asked, like a good little girl, but, that good ole' Dominic wasn't interested in whatever little game she wants to play."

"I'd love to do that, Mr Santini, but I can't. You see, my mother died six weeks ago."

They were both silent for several minutes, eying each other, Dominic taking in her confusion and obvious sorrow, unable to stop himself from admiring her guts and determination in facing him like this.

Ginny, taking in his defiant, angry and resentful glare, wondering what it was her mother had done to this man that could still be causing him so much pain and heartache and bitterness thirty odd years down the line.

And, thinking that she had known the answer all along.

"So, that's why you're here?" Santini was the first to break the silence at last. "Because, of some deathbed promise to your mother?" he demanded.

"Not, exactly. It's what I made String believe, and yes, it's true, when she was sick in the hospital, she did ask me to look up all her friends from the past, but, you weren't one of them."

"So how did you find out about me? Why come looking for me?" Dominic Santini demanded again.

"She wrote me a letter," Ginny paused to take a breath then, arranging her thoughts. "You have to understand Mr Santini, Mom and I …. We weren't close. We hadn't been close for a long time," she paused to drag in a ragged breath, the stark overhead lights of the hangar making her look washed out, as she leaned heavily against the hangar door, her breath seeming to come in short, ragged gasps, as though she couldn't get enough air into her lungs, and this gave Dominic Santini a chance to get a better look at her.

She was indeed the spitting image of her mother.

Yet, there was something much more fragile.

Something, ethereal, about her.

She was far too thin. and he was concerned that her lovely face had such a sickly pallor.

"I was a, well, I guess, you could say that I was a disappointment to her." Ginny continued now. "I chose music for my career, not medicine, as both she and my step father, who was a doctor, both wanted for me, and she never forgave me," she explained in a soft, low voice.

"But, that wasn't the worst of it, I'm afraid. She never talked to me about my father, my _**real**_father," again she paused briefly, desperate to keep her emotions in check now.

"She knew how desperately I wanted to know about him, but she couldn't, _**wouldn't**_**, **talk to me, about him, and I grew to hate her. For being so selfish. For keeping his memory all to herself. He was _**my**_ father, but I know next to nothing about him. She wouldn't even share him with me …."

Ginny's voice caught in her throat then, and Dominic Santini watched as she fought not to give in to the tears that threatened, finding as he did so that he could not harden his heart to her nearly as much as he wanted to.

As much as he _**needed**_ to.

_**Oh yes, he was her mother's daughter all right!**_ He thought silently to himself.

And he could not afford to let her get to him.

He could not afford to allow her to find even the smallest chink in his armour.

"Are _**you**_my father, Mr Santini?"

Her softly uttered question took his breath away and threw his mind into turmoil.

"Are you?" she asked again, in a low, sad voice.

"Is _**that**_ what she _**told**_ you?"

Dominic Santini's voice rose, several notches, in indignation now, and his face was a picture of shock, outrage and barely controlled rage.

"In the letter? Is that what she wrote?" he demanded.

"Not exactly."

Tears slipped slowly out of the corners of Ginny McBride's eyes now and rolled unchecked down her cool, pale cheeks.

"She just said that she was sorry that she hadn't told me about my father, and, that if I wanted to know the truth, I should ask Dominic Santini …."

She drew herself up now to her full height, and regarded him with the saddest, deepest cobalt blue eyes Santini had ever seen in his life.

"So, I'm asking. Are you my father, Mr Santini?"

Dominic Santini had no answer for her.

"I want you to leave. Right now."

"Not until you answer my question," she told him defiantly now, swatting at still more tears, as they silently cascaded down her cheeks.

"I can't help you."

"Can't? Or, won't?"

"Go. Please!"

"You're the only one who _**can**_help me. Please!" She begged. "You _**have to**_ help me!" she sobbed, curling in on herself as though she were in great pain.

"If you're not my father, that's ok. I understand, but, maybe you know who he is? Maybe you know where he is? Help me to find him, please! I have to find him. I _**need**_ to find him. Please, Mr Santini, please …."

"I can't."

With a heavy heart, and not knowing how he found the strength, Dominic Santini walked out of the hangar, leaving the young woman sobbing heartbrokenly, as she sank down onto the cold oil streaked hangar floor.

"Mr Santini …. Please …. Please …. You don't understand! I don't even know his name! Mr Santini …. Please …."

With her voice still ringing in his ears, Dominic Santini forced himself to climb into the Santini Air jeep and start the engine, uncaring that he had left the lights in the hangar blazing, the doors unlocked ….

And, the distressed young woman, keening like an animal, lying on the cold hangar floor.

He gunned the engine and screeched away from the hangar, his head in a spin and his heart beating frantically against his ribs.

_**Dammit!**_

What kind of a man was he?

He should be ashamed of himself!

To leave that poor, wretched, child in such a state ….

To leave her without the answers she sought.

But, how could he?

He could not give her the answers she wanted, until he could face giving himself an answer to her question.

_**Was he her father?**_

Was it possible that she really might be his daughter?

_**Dear God, was it true?**_

He had to think.

_**Oh terrific!**_

Just what he had been trying to avoid having to do.

Think about Eve Archer.

Think about Korea.

Think about his betrayal, by the two people he loved most in all the world.

He knew now that she wasn't going to go away until she had the answers she needed, and Dominic Santini knew that there was no way that he could face her again, until he had some answers of his own.

"I won't be late," Stringfellow Hawke leaned over Ginny McBride, one knee balancing on the bed, as he brushed soft lips against her forehead, and she groaned sleepily.

He had arranged to go out to Knightsbridge, headquarters of the Firm, to deliver the data from the Airwolf mission over Mount Catherine, in to the hands of Archangel, the Deputy Director of Special Projects, but firstly he had to go hire, or buy himself some form of transport, so that he could get out to the lair and retrieve the data from Airwolf's computer banks.

Now that he was officially unemployed, Hawke no longer had access to the Santini Air jeep, so he would have to make other arrangements.

He would also have to make other arrangements about getting up to the cabin, as he would no longer have access to the Bell Jet Ranger, or any other Santini Air chopper either.

"We'll have dinner," he whispered against her brow and she finally opened her eyes sleepily, smiling drowsily as she looked up into his precious face.

They had barely spoken since he had found her at the Santini Air hangar the previous evening, after receiving a call from one of Dom's friends who owned an adjoining lot on the strip at the airfield, to say that the old coot had high tailed it out of there leaving all the lights blazing.

Despite the fact that Santini had told him to stay away, Hawke's conscience would not allow him to knowingly leave the hangar wide open all night long, so that any Tom, Dick or Harry could waltz in there and help themselves to parts and tools, photographic equipment and the tiny amount of petty cash that Dom kept in the office.

Hawke had called a cab, his intention just to go to the hangar and make sure that everything was secure for the night, but, when he got there, he got the surprise of his life, finding Ginny McBride sitting, hunched over at the work bench, arms crossed on the desk and her head buried in her arms.

She did not respond when he spoke her name, and at first Hawke thought that she was sleeping, but, she practically jumped out of her skin, startled witless, when he lightly touched her shoulder to get her attention.

The expression on her face told Hawke immediately that she was in some kind of shock.

Face colourless, and tear streaked, eyes barely focused, and her legs and hands shaking uncontrollably, and as he helped her to her feet and out to the waiting cab, Hawke was convinced that she did not really know who he was, or where she was.

She was practically catatonic.

She remained distant and mute, all the way back to the motel, and when he laid her down on the bed and helped her to undress, covering her at last with the bedclothes, she clung to him, seeking the warmth and strength of his body, as more silent tears raced down her cheeks, until at last she grew calm and finally succumbed to sleep.

Hawke still had no idea why she had really gone to the hangar, but he knew that he was fighting mad with Dominic Santini, for leaving her in such a condition.

_**What had gotten into the old man!**_

He wanted to flatten Santini for leaving her like that.

_**Dammit, what had Dominic said to her?**_

_**Dammit, what was going on here!**_

_**And, was it worth all this angst and heartache?**_

Dominic Santini had always been the perfect gentleman, and had raised Hawke with those same values, to behave like decent, respectable young men, and to understand that women were to always be treated with tenderness, and respect and dignity.

And yet, from what little she finally did tell him, in the growing light of dawn, lying cradled in his arms after they had made love once more, Hawke was appalled to learn that Santini had left her there.

Utterly bereft.

Begging him to help her.

Yet, even knowing how distraught she was, Dominic Santini had just walked away and left her there.

"You're leaving?" Ginny spoke in a low, sleepy voice now.

"I have stuff to do, but, I'll be back later. In time for dinner," he assured her with a soft smile.

"Ok," she stretched languidly, and reached out to slip her arms around his neck, drawing him down for another sleepy kiss.

"Ginny, promise me you won't go back there," Hawke whispered against her soft lips. "Promise me, that you won't go back to the hangar."

"I promise," she replied, half heartedly, when he drew away from her at last.

"I mean it. Leave Dominic Santini to me."

"No, String! You promise me that you'll leave it alone," she sighed heavily and releasing her hold on him, struggled to sit up, holding the sheets up to cover her bare breasts.

"I've done what I set out to do. I've seen him. I can't see any point in seeing him again. Let the man alone, String."

"When are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

"A mistake, String. A terrible mistake. A cheap, nasty trick, my mother has played on all of us, from beyond the grave."

She let out a ragged sigh and sank back amongst the pillows on the bed.

"I'm sorry, String. That it seems to have cost you your friendship with Dominic Santini."

"Not much of a friendship if you ask me," Hawke sighed deeply, feeling his heart constrict in his chest. "This Dominic is a stranger to me. A stranger I'm finding that I don't like very much."

"He's hurting too, String. Give him some time …."

"I'm sick of sparing his feelings and giving him time, Ginny!"

Hawke rose from his perch on the bed now, and crossed the room to stand in the window, sunlight flooding in through a slit in the drapes.

"It doesn't excuse what he did to you last night."

"You don't know what happened between us last night, String."

"I know he left you there, like _**that**_!"

Ginny hung her head briefly.

"I guess he had his reasons."

"What reasons, dammit? There is absolutely no way to justify the way he left you like that. No way!"

Hawke could feel his anger rising once more, and he could not understand why Ginny was sitting there being so damned reasonable.

"He probably felt that he had no other choice, String. He was upset too. Maybe he thought walking away was the best thing to do?"

"Why? Tell me!"

"I will. Some other time. When you're not so angry, and eager to punch his lights out. I told you that I would tell you everything, and I will, but, I need some time, String. Please? Just be patient with me for a little while longer."

"What are you going to do today?" Hawke decided to change the subject now because, thinking about Dominic Santini's behaviour only made his mood more sour and bitter.

"I thought I'd go looking for a job. We can't both be unemployed now, can we?" she smiled shyly at him then.

"I'm not exactly broke, Ginny," Hawke sighed.

"Maybe not, but I am, " she smiled again. "Besides, I'm just not used to sitting around doing nothing all day. I need to keep busy."

"Ok. I'd better go."

"Have fun," she teased.

"Yeah. Sure. Ginny?"

"I love you. It will be all right, String …."

Still clutching the sheets to her chest, Ginny sat up in bed and reached out to grab his hand.

"Whatever else happens, I _**will**_make it all right, I promise you, String."

Silently, Hawke squeezed her hand in return, nodded and smiled weakly, and then walked solemnly toward the door, closing it softly behind him as he walked out into the morning sunshine.

"No Hawke this morning?"

Caitlin O'Shannessy regarded Dominic Santini curiously, as she stood framed in the office doorway. Her boss looked tired and distracted this morning, as he picked up various pieces of paper, only to discard them again, lifting the brim of his baseball cap to scratch absently at his brow.

"Hello? Earth to Dominic?"

"Mmmmm?" Santini looked up at her, finally noticing that she was there and frowned. "Sorry kid," he sighed softly.

"I said, no Hawke this morning?"

"No."

Cait was immediately taken aback by the tight, angry expression that now settled on Dominic Santini's face.

"He out on a job already?"

"No."

"Dominic? You didn't fire him again did you?"

Caitlin was joking, but the tight expression on Santini's face did not change and she felt a moment of panic.

"Dominic?"

"He quit."

"And you just let him?" Santini shrugged. "Dominic, you promised me that you would sort this out!"

"It's sorted."

"You call that a solution? Letting Hawke up and quit?"

"It was his choice."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Leave it, Cait," Santini growled a warning now.

"No, Dom. I left it over the weekend, and you assured me that the two of you would work it out! What happened?"

"It's personal."

"You promised me, Dom! We need him around here."

"We'll manage."

"No, we won't! You've forgotten, haven't you?" Cait planted her hands firmly on her narrow hips, and glared at him.

"Honey, the way I feel this morning, it's a miracle I can remember my own name, and how to get to work," Santini drawled sarcastically. "What else have I forgotten?"

"My vacation."

"You're vacation? You just had a holiday weekend! What vacation?"

"I knew it, Dom! You promised me, ages ago. It's all arranged. Ozzy and the kids will be here tomorrow, all raring to go!"

"Ozzy? Kids?" Santini frowned deeply.

"Yeah, Ozzy Hathaway. The kids for the archaeological dig down South."

"Oh, shoot! Is that _**this**_ weekend?"

"Sure is." Cait sighed.

She had really been looking forward to the trip, and had been grateful to Dominic for offering them an aircraft to get them down there.

Archangel had given her all the necessary clearances to leave the country, and she knew that the kids were all as excited about their trip as she was.

Santini had offered her a twin prop light aircraft, and Hawke had volunteered to go with her, as Dom was committed to ferrying supplies out to the oil rigs out in the Gulf Of Mexico, and they needed someone to fly the plane back, as it was needed for some stunt work later in the week.

"Shoot …."

"I'll call him …."

"You'll do no such damned thing, Caitlin O'Shannessy!" Santini warned in a low voice, throbbing with anger.

"Dominic! We need him!" she fixed him with a cold glare. "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"

"I told you to stay out of it."

"You also told me not to worry, that you would fix it by the time I got back from Reno," she seethed. "Well, far as I can see, you just made it worse. Both of you," She added quickly at the outraged look on her boss's face.

"Now get on the horn, and do whatever you have to do to get Hawke back here, Dominic, else I'll make good on my promise to you, and start banging heads together!"

"It ain't that easy, Cait."

"Yes it is, Dom. You just pick up the phone, and tell him that even if he has quit, he owes you a month's notice, to give you time to find someone else to replace him. He can't just up and quit like that. Santini Air has commitments, stunt work jobs that you agreed to, because you knew that Hawke would be available to help out," she reminded him reasonably now.

"He may not like it, but we both know that his conscience won't let him let you down. And then, when he gets back here, grovel, creep, promise him a raise! Do whatever you have to do to make sure that he stays, Dominic, because, hell, this place wouldn't be the same without him. We _**need**_him! Put aside your pride, and build bridges, Dom, because, he's the closest thing to a son you have, and you love him."

"Sure I do, but right now, I don't _**like **_him very much."

"Live with it, or this place will go to hell in a hand basket."

"Someone else around here getting too big for their boots!" Santini grouched, but, he knew that she was right.

He regretted allowing Hawke to walk out, but he also knew that right now, it was for the best.

They simply could not be around each other without antagonising each other.

They were both too damned stubborn for their own good.

They each thought that they were right, and neither was prepared to back down.

Once the dust had settled, and this business with Ginny McBride and Eve Archer was over and done with, there would be plenty of time for building bridges and mending fences between them.

But for now, he had a problem. He couldn't be in two places at once, and they had to get the twin prop back to LA, ready for the stunt job he had lined up at Paramount Studios later that week, a job that Santini had already slated in for Hawke to fly, while he monitored from the ground.

However, it appeared that Cait had given him a way to get Hawke back, to save face.

Bless her!

_**Notice, huh?**_ Santini mused.

_**Now why the hell didn't I think of that?**_

A smile began to form slowly on his lips, and Caitlin O'Shannessy knew that Dominic Santini had seen the sense in her words, and had made up his mind.

"I'll just …." she waved behind her toward the hangar with her thumb.

"Yeah. You do that," Santini smiled ruefully now. "And put on a fresh pot of coffee will ya. My mouth feels as dry as the Sahara desert."

"Sure thing, boss!"

"And before you ask, smarty pants, no, I did _**not **_tie one on last night!" Santini growled now, in response to the outraged look on her pretty face. "Just not been sleeping very well, is all. Lot of stuff on my mind."

"If you say so."

"I _**do**_say so."

"Sure thing, Dominic. I'll …." she waved absently back toward the hangar once more, and turned quickly on her heel.

"Yeah. You do that," Santini muttered darkly, as she ducked out of the office and left him to his own devices once more.

"What, no Santini today?" Michael Coldsmith Briggs III, otherwise known as Archangel, regarded Stringfellow Hawke critically with his one good eye.

"No," Hawke replied succinctly. "I forgot, you must be missing his rapier wit and wicked sense of humour, not to mention his intelligent conversation," Hawke drawled sarcastically and Archangel was impressed. For Hawke, that was practically a conversation.

"Busy?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, really?" Archangel arched an eyebrow now.

"Really," Hawke sighed and shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.

"So, that's why he called and asked me to give you a message?"

"He did?" Hawke asked in surprise. "What message?" he asked gruffly.

"That you should, and I quote 'get your ass there, ASAP, because he needs you to work notice," Archangel wrestled with a smirk now. "So. he fired you …"

"No. I quit."

"You two having a bit of a difference of opinion?"

"You could say that."

"Care to enlighten me?"

"No."

"Hawke …."

"It's personal."

"Nothing is _**that**_ personal, if it's also going to interfere with your ability to fly Airwolf missions."

"How do you figure that?"

"Airwolf was designed to be operated by three people," Archangel reminded. "At a push, the two of you can cope, but on your own .…"

"I'll manage," Hawke ground out between clenched teeth.

"You'll manage to get yourself killed is what you'll manage," Archangel sighed deeply. "So, whatever it is, get over it. You were the one who got Santini involved in this, Hawke. So," he noticed the other man giving him the evil eye, and again struggled to suppress a smile.

"Don't look at me like that! It's _**your**_ problem. He's part of _**your **_crew. Deal with it. Don't blame me because Dominic has made himself indispensable."

"Gee, thanks Michael."

"Pleasure, as always Hawke," Archangel grinned now.

"Ya know, Michael, sometimes …." Hawke drawled giving the other man a look that was far from amused.

"Sometimes you just need to be reminded of your responsibilities as a leader."

"Yeah," Hawke let out a shoulder raising sigh then. "Pass the salt will ya."

"What?" Archangel frowned now.

"To rub in to my wounds, or, better yet, to season the humble pie I'm gonna be eating for the next six months!"


	9. Chapter 9

"_**If I had to live it all over again, I wouldn't want to do it with any body else."**_

Stringfellow Hawke's words, uttered with such feeling and such sincerity, as they had flown Airwolf as escort to Marella in the rescue plane sent by the Firm, on the return journey from South America, had warmed Dominic Santini's heart and given him a small hope that he and the younger man might yet put their differences aside, and get back to the way things had been.

However, the thaw had not lasted long, when the next day at the hangar, Hawke had showed up for work, riding a brand new motor cycle, his chin set in a stubborn line as he checked the diary for whatever work was schedule, and then silently took the tool box and set to working on the innards of a Hughes 500 that needed to be completely stripped down.

Dominic and Caitlin had shared a sad, pained look, before silently shrugging and getting on with their own work.

And, so it had continued.

That last trip in Airwolf had only served to make Dominic Santini realise just how important the young man was to him.

And, just how much he hated fighting with him.

Having sacrificed himself to save Cait and the kids, Hawke had been held captive in the Guerrilla's compound, having to bide his time, and use his initiative to find a way out, while Dom and Cait and the kids had had to haul a damaged Airwolf across a dry lake bed to find a mechanic to deal with the problem, Dom in acute pain from an injured back, sustained by a hard landing, and with nothing else to do but steer, Dominic had found that he had plenty of time on his hands, to think about the younger man, and what he could be facing.

Dominic had soon reached the conclusion that no matter how mad he was with the kid, he loved him.

Worried over him.

Needed his friendship, and support.

They were family.

And nothing, _**nothing**_**, **should come between family.

As he had sat there, wondering if they would get out of the desert and back to civilisation in one piece, Dominic Santini had vowed to make amends with the younger man, patch things up with him.

Maybe even share with him at last, the thing that had put them at odds in the first place.

It was time.

Time at last to confide a little of what had been on his mind recently.

Santini had thought that he could deal with it on his own, but was finding that the memories and all the associated emotions were overwhelming him.

He had tried explaining things to Nancy, and whilst she had been sympathetic and understanding, she couldn't give him what he really needed.

Stringfellow Hawke's sympathy, and understanding.

Stringfellow Hawke's friendship.

Stringfellow Hawke's love.

Santini also knew that the time was fast approaching when he was going to have to face the young woman, Ginny McBride.

He owed her the answers that she wanted.

He couldn't put it off much longer.

Indeed, he was surprised that she hadn't showed up here again, pestering him for those answers.

But first, he needed to mend a few more fences with Hawke.

However, the younger man had not made it easy for him.

Withdrawing into him self once again, growing silent and resentful and determined to keep his distance.

Both physically, and, emotionally.

Hawke wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily.

Come quitting time, Hawke would silently change into his street clothes and speed away on his motor cycle, avoiding any possible opportunity for Santini to speak with him, and during the day, often as they worked along side each other, he would only speak when necessary, to ask for Dom to pass him a tool, or a rag, or to tell Dom when someone was on the telephone for him.

The chasm between them was growing wider and wider and it was breaking Dominic Santini's heart because he did not know how to bridge that gap.

He had forgotten just how cold, callous and unforgiving Hawke could be when he set his mind to it.

Unyielding.

"How much longer is he gonna keep this up?" Cait asked Dominic Santini with a deep sigh, watching as on the far side of the hangar, Stringfellow Hawke swung his leg over the monster motor cycle he had brought a couple of weeks ago, and which was now his main mode of transportation to and from the hangar.

The younger man was clad in a beige jump suit and black leather boots, and he was slipping a protective helmet on over his head.

"'Till he's worked his notice."

"He's still determined to go?" Cait asked incredulously.

"Don't know. Can't get close enough to ask him."

"Yeah, I noticed. Got all that barbed wire around him with _**'keep out'**_signs posted every few inches," she mumbled sarcastically, having also been on the receiving end of Hawke's cold shoulder treatment, simply because she had tried to reason with him.

_**Easier to reason with a lion with your head in it's mouth**_**!!** Cait thought sarcastically to herself.

"So hard to get past those watch towers, with the snarling, rabid dogs and the guards with Uzi's!"

_**Men!**_

Caitlin was fast running out of patience with both of them.

"Soon be time to start banging heads together," she mumbled again, and this drew a raised eyebrow from Santini, in a look that said he would like to see her try, especially with the mood that Hawke was in lately.

"It ain't like I haven't tried, Cait," Santini protested on a deep sigh, but it was only a weak effort, as together, he and Cait looked across to the far side of the hangar at the sound of Hawke's motor cycle starting up.

"Call that trying?" Cait scowled, as Hawke revved up the engine and swept out of the hangar without so much as a backward glance. "I haven't seen much in the way of action! Don't try, Dom. _**Do**_**!**"

"How can I, when he won't let me get a word out?"

"Ok. What we need here is a plan," Cait caught her bottom lip between her teeth now and grew thoughtful.

"I can't wait to hear this," Santini rolled his eyes heavenward. "However, I got something I gotta do," he rose stiffly from his perch at the workbench and carefully eased the kinks out of his spine. "See ya tomorrow, kid!"

"I'm still working on my plan!" Cait protested.

"Do it on your own time, Cait. It's time to go home," he smiled softly, touched by her concern for him and Hawke, and knowing that it couldn't be pleasant for her to work in such an awkward atmosphere.

"How about this? I'll kick him in the nuts, er, I mean, shins, and you can thump him in the stomach, and then I'll sit on his chest while you, er, reason with him?"

"You got a death wish or something?"

"No."

"Kid, subtlety ain't your bag, is it?"

"I'm from Texas, Dom, we thump first, and ask questions later. The only way a gal can keep her virtue down there."

"Dead men tell no tales, huh?"

"Don't give you any answers either, so I soon learned to stop just short of killin' em!" she grinned then.

"Well maybe you ain't noticed, but this ain't Texas, and Hawke ain't your ordinary cowpoke."

"Ok. Well, maybe we could hire the Russians to sneak up on him …."

"Goodnight, Cait," Santini chuckled.

"Goodnight Dom …."

"Keep working on it!"

"Yeah, yeah, I will …."

"Goodnight kid."

"Hey Ginny, hope you've left some hot water for me!"

Hawke called out, as he closed the door to her motel room behind him, and set his helmet down on the chair by the night stand. He could hear the shower running from the adjacent bathroom, and smiled devilishly, wondering if he should just go on in there and join her.

Ginny had gotten herself a job in a piano bar, and worked odd evenings. playing requests to drunks and lovelorn couples, and he had spent a couple of evenings with her, enjoying the music and marvelling at her skill. Her fingers could truly weave magic over the keys of a piano.

She had also been talking about looking for an apartment. Nothing fancy, just somewhere to call home, other than this shabby little motel room, and although she hadn't said anything about them sharing, he was practically living here with her in the motel room, so was it quite such a huge leap of the imagination to think that she might want him to move in with her, when she did find a new apartment?

Ginny had a gig tonight, he knew, but, he started to frown when he realised that it was a little early to be getting ready for a job that didn't start until nine o'clock, even for her.

Pulling open the fastening of his jumpsuit at the throat, Hawke strode around the bed, but didn't get very far when his foot collided with something on the floor, and he looked down to see what item of Ginny's clothing he had almost tripped over.

Expecting to find one of her shoes, but to his horror, he found Ginny McBride herself, clad only in a soft white fluffy towel, lying unconscious on the floor on the other side of the bed.

"Ginny! Oh, God!"

Hawke exclaimed, falling to his knees beside her prostrate body, his fingers automatically reaching out to her neck, to feel for a pulse.

He couldn't find one, and his heart skipped a beat in his chest.

He reached out for her wrist, and again sought out a pulse, but again, he couldn't find one.

_**No!**_

_**Wait!**_

There was something, but it was so faint.

So weak.

_**Oh God!**_

"Ginny? Can you hear me, honey?" Hawke lifted her head gently, but it flopped lifelessly, her hair falling in a tangled curtain around her shoulders. "Ginny!" Hawke shook her gently, but still got no response.

Laying her down again carefully, Hawke quickly went over to the telephone on the night stand and called the motel switchboard operator, asking her to get an ambulance there as soon as possible, and then he went into the bathroom to shut off the shower.

The water was cold.

Stone cold.

No steam hanging in the air.

Obviously it had been running for some time. All the hot water long gone, and it suddenly hit him that Ginny was wearing nothing but a towel.

Back in the bedroom, Hawke discovered the clothes that she had laid out ready to dress in, frothy white scraps of underwear, denim jeans, a thin sweater, sneakers.

Street clothes, not the kind of thing she usually wore to her gig at the bar. Preferring something more dressy, and suitable for working in front of an audience.

It occurred to Hawke that it was quite possible that Ginny had been lying there, unconscious, since that morning.

Maybe even since just after he had left for work.

He remembered now, that she had been fastening the towel around her body as he had kissed her goodbye, and told her that he would be back in time to escort her to the bar that evening.

_**Dear God!**_

She had probably been lying there all day.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually Hawke could hear the ambulance siren's mournful wail as it sped toward them, and he sat on the floor of the motel room, cradling Ginny in his arms.

She remained silent and still and he had no idea what was wrong with her, or even if she was aware that he was there with her.

And with his heart heavy in his chest, the only thing Hawke could think of was that it was happening again.

Another woman that he had come to care for ….

_**Hell, who was he kidding?**_

Just because he hadn't been able to bring himself to actually say the words out loud?

Another woman he loved ….

_**Yes, loved ….**_

Another woman he loved, was maybe dying, right there in his arms.

Again.

Feeling helpless and dazed, Hawke could only stand by and watch as the ambulance crew dealt with assessing Ginny's condition, hooking her up to various machines, slipping an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, and inserting an IV into the back of her hand, before loading her into the back of the ambulance.

After giving them the few scant details he knew about Ginny, Hawke asked if he could ride with her in the back of the ambulance, but the crew politely refused, advising him that they might need room to work on their patient if her condition deteriorated, and he would only be in the way.

They told him that they would be taking her to the Good Shepherd Hospital and thanking them, Hawke grabbed his helmet off the chair by the night stand, and slammed the motel room door behind him, as he sprinted to where he had parked his motor cycle, and swinging his leg over the saddle he gunned the engine and followed the ambulance out of the motel parking lot, racing after it, lights flashing and siren wailing, as it sped on its way to Good Shepherd Hospital.

Patience had never been one of Stringfellow Hawke's virtues, and sitting around the hospital emergency room waiting area was driving him nuts.

He had no idea how long he had been sitting there, he just knew that he was pretty soon going to get a bad case of cabin fever.

He'd drunk enough vending machine coffee to re-float the Titanic, and pacing up and down the endless corridors was just making him even crazier.

He needed to know what was happening to Ginny, but nobody was talking to him.

He had never felt so helpless and alone in his life.

Not even in that steaming, jungle hell, Vietnam.

When he had been lying wounded, fearing that he might die.

He hadn't felt alone then.

He had felt Dominic Santini's presence in his mind and in his heart more keenly than ever at that moment.

Dominic laughing about some antic he and Hawke's father had gotten up to during the Second World War ….

Bragging about some girl they had teased and chased and tried to steal away from the other, before Steven Hawke had met and married Connie, Hawke's mother, of course.

Singing Italian Opera, badly.

Raging at one or the other of the young Hawke brother's in Italian, knowing that they couldn't understand a damned word. He could have been reciting nursery rhymes for all they knew.

Dominic Santini, sharing his grief, at the news that St John was gone, officially listed as MIA.

Dominic, sharing his grief over Gabrielle ….

Dominic ….

Always there, to watch his back.

Always there, at his side, during the darkest and most painful times in his life.

_**Damn he missed the old geezer ….**_

There was a big hole in his chest where his heart used to be.

And, he was man enough to admit, if only to himself, he loved Dominic Santini like a father.

He needed him now.

Steven Hawke had been his father for barely twelve years, but Dominic Santini had been more than a father to him, for over twenty years ….

So, he never said it out loud?

_**Surely the old guy knew that he thought of him like a father?**_

_**Didn't he?**_

Hawke had never actually said it out loud, because, he always suspected that if he did, far from being touched, Dominic Santini would punch him square in the jaw, and knock him down on his ass, for disrespecting his real father's memory.

But, never the less, it was true.

Only stubborn pride and hurt had stopped him from going to the payphone down the hall and calling Dominic.

Stupid, stubborn pride.

"Pardon me, did you come in with Miss McBride?"

Hawke immediately dragged his mind back to the present, and looked up into the tired, drawn face of a man dressed in creased black pants and equally creased white coat.

"Yes I did. How is she, doc?"

"Are you a relative, Mr?"

"Hawke. Stringfellow Hawke."

"String?" there was a surprised edge to the young medic's tone now.

"Yeah," Hawke confirmed with a soft sigh, noting the doctors strange expression.

"That answers a lot of questions," the doctor gave Hawke a small smile now. "Stringfellow. String. Mmmmm. Are you a relative, Mr Hawke?"

"No. Ginny and I …."

"Does she have any relatives, Mr Hawke?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Her mother died about six weeks ago, and her father died several years ago."

"No brothers or sisters?"

"Not that I know of," Hawke was growing impatient again now. "Why?"

"Not to worry," the doctor sighed deeply, and pinched the bridge of his nose between index finger and thumb, briefly closing his eyes.

"How is she?" Hawke asked again, suddenly afraid to know what it was the doctor wasn't telling him.

"She's awake now. She kept saying, String, over and over again, and I'm afraid my staff and I had no idea that that was a person, that that was you," he smiled apologetically now.

"She's also been asking to see someone called Dominic. I hoped that maybe he was a relative?" Hawke shook his head and watched disappointment mar the young man's tired features.

"No," Hawke drew in a deep breath now. "Can I see her?"

"In a little while. She needs to rest, Mr Hawke. We had to give her a blood transfusion."

"Is it serious?"

"Yes, Mr Hawke," however, he did not elaborate and Hawke gave him an imploring look.

"Look, doc, I know you have rules about what you can and can't tell folks, especially if their not relatives, but, I'm all she has, and I need to know."

"Yes, Mr Hawke. It's serious."

The doctor moved to take a seat on the bench beside Hawke and again massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

"Can you tell me?"

"I guess so."

"So?"

"Miss McBride is in the final stages of Leukaemia."

"Ohmygod!" Hawke gasped. "I knew she was sick. She's fainted a few times, told me it was just low blood sugar, but, I had no idea it was that serious."

Hawke ran his fingers roughly through his hair then and looked back at the doctor in anguish.

"So what are you doing for her?"

"Everything we can, Mr Hawke, I assure you."

"And?" Hawke quizzed.

"And?" the doctor frowned.

"And, what are her chances?"

"Mr Hawke, Miss McBride is very sick. Very sick indeed. Right now, her only chance for recovery, is a bone marrow transplant …."

"Then take it from me."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm serious, doc. I'm here. Take what she needs from me," Hawke insisted.

"It doesn't work like that, Mr Hawke. You can't give someone bone marrow from just any old donor."

"Why not?"

"We usually prefer to get it from a close relative. A blood relative. Blood and tissue types have to be a match, you see. Or else it won't work. Non related donors who are a perfect match are rare."

The doctor's earlier questions began to make sense to Hawke now.

"And even then, if we do find a compatible donor …. It's only a very slim chance, Mr Hawke. I'm sorry …."

"A slim chance is better than no chance at all," Hawke tried to remain positive.

"I don't think you understand, Mr Hawke. The chances of finding a donor at all, are slim, to none at all," the young medic let out a ragged breath then. "She's dying, Mr Hawke. I wish I could offer you some small hope, but …. We're doing everything that we can."

"I appreciate your honesty," Hawke told him then, knowing how hard it must have been to come to him and tell him such awful news.

"About this Dominic fella?"

"He's a friend of mine. I'll call him."

"Thank you. He might know if there are any relatives you don't know of."

"I doubt it, doc, but I guess it can't hurt to ask him."

"I really am sorry, Mr Hawke."

"When can I see her?"

"Probably not until the morning. She's very weak right now."

"Can't I even sit with her, while she sleeps? I promise not to disturb her. Please?"

"All right," the doctor agreed, reluctantly. "I'll get someone to come show you the way, but, it won't be for a little while yet. We're still running some tests."

The doctor rose slowly and wearily from his perch on the foam padded bench beside Hawke, and offered him his hand.

"How long, doc?" Hawke rose too, but did not accept the offered hand just yet. "How long does she have?"

"I really can't say."

"Please. I need to know."

"Without the bone marrow transplant? A few days."

"Oh God, is that all?"

"I can't be sure. It depends on her really. Her strength of will, and her determination to live. We can keep giving her transfusions, but they will become gradually less effective."

"And, with a transplant?" Hawke pressed.

"I'm sorry," the doctor sighed softly, and lowered his hand to his side. "There are no guarantees, Mr Hawke. Miss McBride is very sick, has probably been very sick for a long time."

The young man took in Hawke's stricken expression, and realised that it was a lot for him to take in.

"This didn't just happen," he felt compelled to explain now. "She will have already had some kind of treatment, Chemo therapy maybe. Maybe she got lucky, and went into remission, and the longer it went on, the easier it became for her to think that she was cured, but, remission isn't permanent." he let out another deep sigh then. "And it certainly isn't a cure. When she started to feel sick again, she must have known that the cancer was back, Mr Hawke, that she was living on borrowed time …."

"Thanks doc. I appreciate your candour."

Hawke offered the other man his hand now, and the doctor accepted it and shook it briefly.

"Can I see her now? Just for a minute? Then I'll call Dominic Santini. That's the man she was asking after …."

The doctor nodded solemnly then, in reply.

"Will she know I'm here?" Hawke asked in a soft voice a few minutes later as he stood inside the open doorway to Ginny McBride's hospital room.

She looked so small and pathetic, deathly pale, eyes closed, tightly tucked up in the pristine white sheets, surrounded by beeping and hissing machines and IV lines and blood transfusion lines, slowly dripping nutrients, fluids and blood into her arm.

"Maybe. It's worth a try. We put her under light sedation, but, if you talk to her, she may be able to hear you," the young doctor confirmed tiredly. "Don't stay too long."

"I won't," Hawke agreed.

"You can come back, for short spells, but she really needs her rest/"

"Thank you, doc."

"I'll see you again, Mr Hawke," the doctor laid a reassuring hand on Hawke's shoulder. "And, I'd appreciate it if you could get Dominic to speak to me. If she has relatives, the sooner we try to make contact with them, the better."

"I will, doc."

The doctor left him then, and after drawing in a deep breath, Hawke finally entered the hospital room and taking up the seat beside her bed, gently took Ginny McBride's small, cool, pale, hand in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Oh, Ginny, is this what you couldn't tell me?" he asked in a low rough voice, stroking her delicate palm with his thumb nail now. "Is this what you were trying to protect me from?"


	10. Chapter 10

"Dominic Santini!" the older man snatched up the telephone receiver impatiently, but did not take his eyes off the old black and white movie playing on his television screen.

John Wayne in Stage Coach, saving the day, again.

"Dom?"

The older man had to strain to hear the voice at the other end of the line, and reluctantly reached out for the TV remote control, turning down the sound and casting his companion an apologetic glance.

Nancy Fitzgerald just gave him a smile in return and settled back into her seat on the couch, dipping her hand into a bowl of warm, buttery popcorn.

"Dom?"

The voice was in his ear again now, and this time, Dominic Santini had no trouble identifying his caller.

There was something in that familiar voice that made his heart beat faster in his chest and turned his blood cold.

A quiet desperation.

Fear.

Anguish.

Pain.

"Dom?"

"String? What is it? Where are you?"

"Hospital …."

"Where? Which one?"

"Good Shepherd."

"What happened?"

"Please come, Dominic. Hurry!"

"String? Dammit, will you tell me what happened!"

"No time. Just come," and with that the line went dead in Dominic Santini's ear, leaving him wondering what the hell had happened to his young friend.

Had he been in an accident?

A fight?

Was he badly hurt?

_**Dammit!.**_

"Dominic?" Nancy swivelled around from her seat on the couch and took in his anxious expression. "What is it?"

"Something happened to String."

"The young man you told me about? The guy from the beach the other day?"

"Yeah. He's in the hospital," Santini told her in a rush, scooping up the keys to his jeep from a dish on the dresser. "I'm sorry, honey. I gotta go."

"Of course you do, Dominic," she smiled softly. "I'll take care of things here for you."

"Thanks. I don't know how long I'll be ….."

"I won't wait up," she smiled shyly "Now go."

"Thank you, Nancy."

"I hope your young friend is ok, Dominic."

"Me, too. Me too …."

"What the hell?" Dominic Santini's jaw hung open as he stared at a somewhat tired and dishevelled looking Stringfellow Hawke, his heart beating erratically in his chest, as he had been expecting to find the young man in pieces. "I thought …."

"I'm sorry, Dominic," Hawke let out a long, ragged sigh and sank down onto the bench in the waiting area, his legs no longer able to hold him up, he was so tired.

"I thought …. Dammit, I thought I was gonna find you smeared all over the highway some place!" Santini raved.

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"For God's sake boy, I thought you were. …." there was no denying the pain and fear in the older man's grey eyes now, and Stringfellow Hawke felt a pang of regret.

"I know what you thought, Dominic. I deliberately let you think …. I'm sorry. It was the only way I could think to get you here."

"For cryin out loud, String, I thought you were dying!" Anger was now replacing the concern and the fear Santini had felt, and he glowered down at Stringfellow Hawke.

"Dom, it's Ginny."

"I don't wanna hear it!" Santini snarled and turned on his heel, and was half way down the corridor before Hawke could manage to speak again.

"She's dying, Dominic," he choked out, effectively stopping Santini in mid stride.

The older man turned back to face him, all the colour draining from his stricken face.

"She has Leukaemia, Dominic," Hawke told the older man without moving from his seat. "She doesn't have very long."

"I'm sorry, kid."

"She was asking to see you."

"Me?"

"Yes, Dominic, _**you**_. Lying there, fighting for her life, the only thing she could think of was seeing you."

"String …. I …."

"You will see her now, won't you?"

Santini hung his head briefly, not knowing what to say to the younger man.

"She's dying, Dom. She can't hurt you. But, maybe you could help her."

"How?"

"The doctor needs to know if she has any relatives," Hawke was surprised by the startled look that suddenly crossed Dominic Santini's face. "We were wondering if you might know if her mother had any brothers or sisters?"

"Oh."

"Dom?"

"I don't know, kid."

"She needs a bone marrow transplant Dominic, and for it to stand a reasonable chance of working, it has to come from a blood relative, or a perfect blood and tissue type match. I already offered, but …."

"I don't know, String. It was thirty odd years ago. Hell, I can't remember most things that happened last week, much less if some chick I met in the Korean war, had any brothers or sisters!"

"She was more than just some chick, wasn't she, Dominic?"

"Yeah," Santini sighed softly now. "Don't you wanna know?"

"I guess I finally figured out you'll tell me, when you're good and ready."

Hawke rose slowly to his feet and Santini's heart went out to the younger man as he watched him sway slightly from fatigue.

"I'll take you to her."

"String …."

"Please, Dom, whatever it is, can't you put it to one side? Just for a little while?"

"Sure. Sure."

"They have her lightly sedated, but I think she knows I was there. She squeezed my hand once or twice, when I was talking to her. I told her that I'd asked you to come."

"String …."

"Thanks for coming, Dom."

"I was worried about ya, kid. I thought you were dying. String, I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

Hawke walked a little way down the corridor toward a bank of elevators and Dominic Santini followed him.

Hawke showed the older man to Ginny's room, and then stood to one side to allow him to pass, indicating to Santini that he meant to leave the two of them alone.

Santini was shocked by what he found, the young woman, Ginny McBride, looking so tiny and so frail, surrounded by machines and tubes.

His heart was banging against his rib cage and his legs felt stiff and awkward, as he tried to force himself to move closer.

She looked so pale.

She looked like she was already dead.

Tears sprang up in Dominic's eyes as this thought crossed his mind.

"Hello, Ginny. It's Dominic, Dominic Santini."

This lovely young woman, this beautiful child ….

She could be _**his**_child.

It was possible.

She was about the right age, and there was no denying that she looked just like her mother.

And he _**had**_ loved her mother.

Emotionally.

And physically.

For a few short months, back in late 1951, Eve Archer had been the world to him. and he had never known such love and such passion either before, or since.

And then she had broken his heart, and he had never been the same man again.

This beautiful young woman really could be his daughter.

His child.

Flesh of his flesh ….

And now that he had found her ….

It was too late.

She was dying.

It all made sense to him now.

That was why she had come looking for him.

She probably knew about the cancer, and that she needed bone marrow from a close relative if she was going to live.

If, he _**was **_her father, maybe he would make a suitable donor.

And, if it turned out he wasn't ….

Then maybe, just maybe, she had figured that he might know who her father really was.

He had been there, after all,

Knew a lot of the guys who were out there too, guys her mother knew. Dated. Romanced.

It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that he might be able to put two and two together, and come up with a name for her.

Was it?

_**He was my father, and I don't even know his name ….**_

_**God Dammit, Eve!. What were you thinking!**_

_**The child needed to know. Who and where she came from ….**_

_**Damn you!**_

_**And what about me?**_

_**Didn't I deserve to know too?**_

_**How could you be so damned selfish?**_

Dominic Santini slowly walked deeper into the room and sank down slowly on to the hard chair positioned beside Ginny McBride's bed. He looked closely at her lovely, pale face, heart shaped and elfin, long fine caramel coloured lashes, the same colour as her hair, framing her closed eyes.

Eyes that he knew were a deep, bottomless blue.

And yet, even as he stared at her, he could not see the slightest hint of a resemblance to himself.

_**How could she be his child, and not inherit one single gene from him?**_

She was all Eve Archer.

If, he really was her father, there was only one sure way to find out.

Resting his elbows on the bed, Santini bowed his head and closed his eyes, offering up a silent prayer, and then he opened his eyes, and gently took the girl's hand in his own.

"I'm sorry, girlie. I should have at least listened to what you had to say," He squeezed her hand gently. "I'll make it right, I promise."

He closed his eyes briefly once more, and tears slipped silently down his cool rugged cheeks.

And much to his surprise, Dominic Santini felt a slight pressure, as Ginny McBride squeezed his hand in acknowledgement of his presence, and the simple gesture brought a smile to his lips.

"Dom?"

"Where's that doctor?"

Dominic Santini emerged from Ginny McBride's room about half an hour later, knuckling tears away from his cheeks as he strode slowly down the corridor to where Hawke was sitting, in an uncomfortable chair, in a depressing little waiting area with walls plastered in posters requesting volunteer blood donors, advertising family planning clinics and advising patients to get their flu shots.

"I think he went on a break. Said he'd be back later to check on Ginny."

"Good. I wanna see him."

"Dom?"

"How are you holding up, kid?"

"I've been better," Hawke sighed softly.

"Look, I'm sorry I've been acting like such a jerk," Santini sat down heavily in the seat next to his young friend.

"You gonna tell me what this is all about?"

"Soon."

"Yeah. That's what she said too. Asked me to be patient with her just a little while longer."

"It's complicated," Santini offered.

"Well, at least you're here now."

"I came for you, son. Because, no matter what garbage comes out of my mouth, I love you. I always have, and I always will. My heart knows the truth, even if my head don't. When you called, when I thought I was gonna get here and find you dead …."

"I'm sorry, Dom. I hated doing that to you, but I knew if I told you the truth …."

"The stupid, stubborn old sonofabitch would have slammed the phone down on you, right?"

"Something like that," Hawke smiled ruefully.

"Well, maybe he wouldn't have."

"I couldn't take that chance, Dom. You haven't exactly been listening to me lately."

"I know, but, after our little South American vacation …. Let's just say it put some things back into perspective for me, and I'd pretty much made up my mind to apologise to you. Mend fences. To try to explain what I could to you."

"But, I put up all my defences and shut you out."

"Barbed wire, keep out signs, watch towers with armed guards, snarling dogs an all …."

This drew a frown from Hawke now.

"Something Cait said," Santini smiled now. "Go figure!"

"Never. If, I live to be a zillion, I'll never work out what goes on in that dame's head," Hawke sighed deeply now.

"Me neither," Santini's smile grew just a little wider now. "I hate it when we fight, String."

"Me too, Dominic. Trouble is, we do it too well."

"We sure do," Santini agreed.

"Dominic, I never said it, but …."

"I know. Me too, kid. Me, too."

"It doesn't mean that I love him any less, you know. My dad. Because I love you."

"I'm happy to hear that. I don't love him any the less either, kid, because I love you. Best blessings in my life came from loving your father, like a brother," Santini confessed on a ragged breath now, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Steven himself, your mom, St John, you, best things that ever happened in my life."

"And Eve Archer?"

"A mixed blessing," Santini sat back heavily in his seat now and allowing his head to drop back slightly, closed his eyes. "I'm beat," he sighed. "Gonna shut my eyes for a few minutes. Get someone to give me a nudge when the doc comes by."

"Will do. I'm glad you're here, Dom."

"Me too, kid. Why don't you try to catch a few z's yourself? You look done in."

"No, I'm going to go back in and sit with her for a little while."

"String?"

"I love her, Dominic. I love her. And, we might not have much time left to be together."

And with that, Hawke rose stiffly from his seat and walked slowly back down the corridor to Ginny McBride's room, his back to his old friend now, so he was not able to see the look of horror and anxiety that crossed the older man's face, as he realised what the young man had just said, and the repercussions ….

If it turned out that he, Dominic Santini was not her father.

For there was only one other possibility, and it did not bear thinking about.

"Here kid, drink this," Dominic Santini held out a Styrofoam cup of black coffee to a groggy Stringfellow Hawke, as the younger man tried to force himself awake.

He had returned to the waiting room after spending another hour at Ginny McBride's bedside, when the nursing staff had come to do a little necessary housekeeping, taking readings from machines and changing fluids on the IV stand.

He and Dominic had sat in weary silence, until at last Hawke had dozed off.

Santini had left the young man alone to sleep.

He looked like hell, still wearing the beige jumpsuit he had donned at the hangar yesterday evening, when he had left work, and Santini just knew that he hadn't eaten a morsel since this whole thing had started.

At around five thirty am, the doctor had returned to the floor, and Dominic had had a quiet word with him, not bothering to disturb Hawke, and a few minutes later a nurse had sought out Santini to take a blood sample, which the doctor had assured him he would have rushed through the lab.

After the nurse had left, Santini had popped his head around Ginny McBride's door, but she was still sleeping soundly, so he went back to the waiting area and sat beside Hawke, until a need to use the bathroom had sent him off down the corridor in search of the men's room and he had found the coffee vending machine.

The concoction it dispensed was revolting.

But it gave his system the jolt it needed.

At six thirty am Dominic had used the payphone at the end of the hallway and called Nancy to give her an update, and then he had gone back for more coffee, bringing back a cup for Hawke too.

"Thanks," Hawke took a sip of the coffee and then pulled a sour face. "Oh boy!" he groaned.

"I know it's bad, but drink it down anyway. Wake you up," Santini advised.

"Did the doctor come back yet?"

"Yeah."

"Were you able to tell him if Eve Archer had any relatives?" Hawke's voice trailed away as he noticed Santini shaking his head slowly.

"Look, kid, there's something I gotta tell you."

"Shoot."

"String, I didn't know it until she showed up at the hangar the other night, I swear, but …."

"Just spit it out, Dom," Hawke invited, taking another sip of the coffee and shuddering as the bitterness bit into his tongue and clung to the back of his throat as it went down.

"There's a chance that, Ginny, well kid, there's a chance that Ginny is my daughter."

"What?"

This had the effect of waking Hawke up much more effectively than the vending machine coffee ever would, and he sat up a little straighter in his seat.

"She might be my daughter," Santini confirmed with a somewhat bashful look on his grey, lined face and on a ragged sigh.

"Is that what made you so mad?" Hawke asked in amazement.

"Hell no, kid! She's beautiful and sassy and gutsy and intelligent, having a daughter with all those qualities would make me proud, not mad," Santini defended. "But, I didn't know. I didn't know that that was what she wanted to see me about. I thought she wanted to talk to me about Eve. Maybe even try to get me to agree to see her again after all these years, and, it was Eve I was really mad at."

"You, and she?"

"Yes."

"Oh," Hawke took another sip of his coffee. "And she hurt you?

"Oh yeah, kid. She really hurt me. I loved Eve Archer with every fibre of my being …. And she broke my heart."

"How?"

"She fell in love with someone else, while I was back in the States, after I got wounded, and she dumped me when I went back to Korea. Said how sorry she was, that she hadn't planned it, that it had just happened …."

"But, she didn't tell you that she was pregnant, right?"

"No."

"And, she never tried to get in touch with you again? Never tried to let you know that you had a child?"

"_**Might**_have a child," Santini corrected. "Don't know for sure yet, but …."

"But?"

"Well, I explained to the doc that I had only just found out that there was a chance that she might be my kid, and he suggested that they take blood. To test for paternity, and to see if I am a match as a bone marrow donor."

"Ginny told me when we first met, that her real father had been a pilot and that he had been killed on a mission in Korea," Hawke mused aloud now.

"Maybe Eve just told her that to stop her from trying to find her real father?" Santini suggested. "Ginny told me that she and her mother had had a falling out, because Eve refused to talk about Ginny's real father, was obsessed with keeping his memory all to her self. She came to the hangar that night to ask me if I was her Dad, and ya know, kid, I couldn't answer her. I'd never even given it a thought, that there might have been a child from my relationship with Eve. Never once."

"I'm sorry, Dom. You've missed out on so much."

"So has Ginny."

"Yeah."

"If, I hadn't been so mad at Eve …."

"Why would a mother do that to her child? Lie to her? Refuse to share her memories of her father with her?"

"I don't know."

"Unless," Hawke mused aloud. "Unless, he didn't die in Korea? Unless, he was married, and she was trying to protect him?"

The look that crossed Dominic Santini's face then made Hawke frown.

"What is it Dom?" Hawke asked now. "Did you remember something?"

"There were a lot of guys out there, String. Married guys, and single guys. All lonely, and afraid, and looking to find solace and comfort, wherever they could. Wives and families and loved ones seemed a long way away. Letters from home were few and far between, and you couldn't hold them in your arms and share your fears and your worries with them, letters from home couldn't keep you warm nights," Santini sighed.

"Sick men, injured men, needed more reassurance. They needed to know that what they were doing was actually worth while, that their lives _**meant**_ something to someone real. I know. I got shot out there, and the only thing I really wanted, was to hold Eve in my arms, and have her tell me that she loved me. It's possible that Ginny is my child. It's also possible that Eve either didn't know she was pregnant when we last saw each other, or, she didn't know for sure who the father of her child was, I guess," Santini let out a ragged sigh.

"And she took the secret with her to her grave."

"Looks that way."

"How long before they get the results of the blood tests back?"

"Doc said he would rush them through the lab, but it will still take a few hours. Maybe this afternoon."

"Someone better call Cait, and let her know what's happening."

"Yeah. When I left her last night, she was looking forward to banging some heads together."

"Huh?"

"Yours, and mine."

"I guess we've both been acting like a couple of idiots."

"Speak for your self, kid," Santini smiled weakly at his companion then. "I'm sorry, kid. I missed ya."

"Yeah," Hawke reached out and pulled the older man roughly into his arms for a brief hug. "I'm sorry too, Dominic. I was only trying to help you. Both of you. I could see how badly you were hurting, but you wouldn't talk to me."

"So, you thought you'd force my hand," Santini drew away from the younger man now, and looked deeply into his tired, anxious face as he nodded sadly.

"It's so unfair, Dominic. After all this time, to discover that you might have a daughter, only to then find out that she's dying."

"At least I know now, and we'll have a chance to get to know each other a little. Before," Santini buried his face in his hands for a moment, rubbing at his rough old cheeks.

"I'd better go call Cait," he said in a tired, flat voice when he looked back up at his young companion.

"And I'd better run back to the motel and have a shower and change my clothes. Pack a bag for Ginny …."

"You been _**living**_with her?"

The startled look on his face and the hard edge to Santini's voice now drew a frown from Stringfellow Hawke.

"Well, yeah."

"You're _**sleepin'**_with her?" Santini demanded in incredulity now.

"Dom …."

"Are you sleeping with her?" Santini demanded again, in a low voice throbbing with anger.

"Hey, don't come the protective father with me!" Hawke growled.

"Answer the question, String!"

"I don't see that it's any of your damned business, but yes, Ginny and I have been, intimate. We're both consenting adults, and we happen to love each other."

"Jesus, boy! What were you thinking! No, I take that back. You weren't thinking. At least not with your head! You were thinking with the bulge in your pants! For Christ's sake, you've only known the girl for five minutes," Santini raged now, his face flooding with hot, angry colour. "How the hell do you know what you feel!"

"It wasn't just me you know. Ginny had something to do with it too. It was mutual, a two way street, and I know how I feel, Dominic. I know that I love her. You were the one who told me that I would _**know,**_when I met the right girl. And, you were right. I knew it in the first instant. What the hell has gotten into you?" Hawke demanded, but Santini ignored him, rose angrily from his seat and marched off down the corridor without another word, leaving Hawke in utter confusion and bemusement, to watch his angry back disappear into the elevator at the end of the corridor.

Hawke hung his head, letting out a deep sigh and running his fingers roughly through his hair.

_**Back to square one again ….**_

But, for the life of him, he could not understand Dominic Santini's reaction.

_**Over reaction.**_

Even if it turned out that Ginny McBride _**was**_his daughter, there was no justification for the murderous look, and the uncharacteristic anger Dominic Santini had just displayed.

_**Here we go again ….**_

Hawke realised that Dominic had every right to be upset, worried.

He had just discovered the possible existence of a daughter, only to learn almost in the same breath, that she did not have very much longer to live.

Hawke tried to put himself in the older man's place, and knew just how heart broken he would feel.

The grief, the despair ….

For they were things that he was already feeling, at the thought that he was about to lose yet another woman that he loved.

That grief, that despair, should have drawn them together. Should have forced them to turn to each other, to draw comfort from each other.

Instead ….

Santini had blown his stack at the thought that his young friend had been intimate with his daughter.

_**It didn't make sense.**_

He should have been happy for them.

He should have been pleased that they had found happiness with each other.

The man he had confessed to loving like a son, finding happiness and love with his daughter.

It wasn't jealousy.

Was it?

No.

Nor was it the protectiveness of a father toward his daughter.

It was something else.

Something, deeper.

Something ,much more serious.

But right now, Hawke was too tired to try to reason it out.

He didn't even know where that left him with Dominic Santini.

There was nothing else for it.

He would just have to wait and see if the old man came to his senses.

When Hawke returned to the hospital, showered, and changed into jeans and a shirt with a sweater over the top, and carrying a small overnight bag with clean night attire and underwear and toiletries for Ginny, he found Dominic Santini sitting in the waiting area as he stepped off the elevator.

The old man looked old and tired and rumpled.

Defeated, Hawke thought silently to himself, and his heart went out to his old friend.

While he had been away from the hospital, Hawke had decided to ignore Santini's erratic behaviour, putting it down to grief and shock, and being completely overwhelmed by the news that the daughter he did not know he had was dying.

He was angry and distraught.

Who better to take it out on that the only other living soul who loved him and understood him?

The man he loved like a son.

And, who loved him in the same way in return.

The man who loved her, too.

Neither man spoke as Hawke sat down in the vacant seat beside Santini, and dropped the overnight bag at his feet.

After a few seconds of silence, Hawke slowly reached out and laid a reassuring hand on Santini's forearm, praying as he did so that the older man would not pull away from him.

Santini finally turned his gaze on Hawke, and the younger man knew that he had been right about the way Dominic Santini was feeling.

There was still anger there, dancing in his rheumy blue grey eyes.

Anger, and disappointment.

And, something else.

_**Regret**__._

Hawke nodded in understanding at the look he saw in Santini's eyes and let out a soft sigh.

"How's Ginny?"

"Sleeping," Santini said in a low, rough voice. "I just left her. The doc came in to see me, said the results were back."

"Already? That was quick," Hawke could not hide his surprise.

"Yup. Asked me to wait, while he went through the lab report, and that he would come back for me. That was about a half an hour ago," Santini explained with a ragged sigh. "You look like hell," He commented now, taking in Hawke's tired face.

"Pot, kettle, black," Hawke responded succinctly. "Did you call Cait?"

"Yeah."

"She ok?"

"Yeah. She's a good kid. Said she'd call the folks who had lessons today and cancel them. Good thing we got that stunt at Paramount out of the way."

"Yeah. How much did you tell her?"

"Not much. Only that someone we both knew was sick."

Both men sat in silence for several long minutes, until Hawke spotted the white coat clad doctor walking wearily down the corridor toward them, and he touched the back of Dominic Santini's hand lightly, to draw his attention.

"I guess this is it," Santini said in a low voice, watching the doctor approach, his heart tripping wildly against his ribs.

"I guess. Want me to come with you?"

"No. Thanks kid, but, this I have to do alone."

"I understand."

"Thanks."

"Mr Santini?"

Dominic rose slowly and painfully from his seat and followed the young medical man back down the corridor to his office, leaving Stringfellow Hawke alone with his thoughts, to play a silent waiting game.

"Well doc?" Dominic Santini asked as he sat down heavily in an old metal framed chair, on the other side of the doctor's desk and watched the doctor as he picked up a thin buff coloured file from the desk, and glanced through its meagre contents.

"Doc?"

The look on the young man's face as he glanced up from the file, told Dominic Santini everything that he needed to know, and he felt a pain deep down in his soul, like no other he had ever felt in his life before.

And, he knew that the coming hours would prove to be the most difficult and painful that he had ever experienced.

"Mr Santini," the doctor took in a small breath and began.

"It's ok, doc," Santini said in a small voice. "I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too. More than you'll ever know."

When Dominic Santini returned to the waiting area, Stringfellow Hawke was nowhere to be seen, and the older man guessed that he had gone in to sit with Ginny.

He was glad.

He needed time to think, and he couldn't do that with Hawke sitting there, pinning him with that intense blue gaze.

Waiting for answers to questions he could not ask out loud.

Santini buried his head in his hands and finally gave into the tears, deep heart wrenching sobs silently shaking his whole upper body as he allowed his grief free reign.

_**What the hell had he done to deserve this?**_He demanded silently to the heavens.

_**Hadn't enough people been hurt already?**_

"Dominic?"

Hawke's voice finally penetrated Santini's grief, and he had never felt more glad to have the young man's strong, sure, loving arm around his shoulder, than he was at that moment, as Hawke squatted down before him and took one of his cold, gnarled hands in his own.

He wanted that moment to last forever.

He didn't want to have to look at the young man, he didn't want to have to look into the face he loved so dearly, and see firstly the disappointment, the grief ….

And, then the anger, bitterness and outrage that would surely follow, marring those handsome, chiselled features.

Santini kept his head down and his eyes closed.

He didn't want this moment to end.

Because, deep down in his heart, he knew, that from this moment on, nothing would ever be the same again.

"Dominic?"

There was a tremor in Hawke's voice now, and Santini felt his heart lurch in his chest once more.

He couldn't put it off any longer.

He forced his head up slowly and turned sad, devastated eyes on Stringfellow Hawke's beloved face.

"I'm sorry, kid," his voice was so low he could barely hear it himself.

"Ohmygod," Hawke gasped, his legs buckling beneath him, and he quickly reached out to Santini for support, before sinking down in the chair beside him. "She's not?"

"No, kid. She's not my daughter," Santini confirmed in a small, sad voice.

"Oh, Dom. I'm so sorry."

"That's not all, kid. The test results came back. I'm not a match. I can't donate bone marrow."

"Oh God!"

The crack of emotion in Stringfellow Hawke's voice tore at Dominic Santini's own heart now, and he had no trouble believing that the young man truly did love Ginny McBride.

The brief flare of anger between them earlier already forgotten, Dominic Santini pulled the young man roughly into his arms and embraced him tightly.

"I'm so sorry, kid," and he meant it, hugging the young man too him fiercely.

"Why does this keep happening?" Hawke let out a ragged sob as he buried his face in the old man's shoulder.

"I don't know, kid, but, I guess it has something to do with the fact that you know how to love. When the opportunity comes, you know how to love, and you know how to accept love, when it's offered. Not everyone does you know."

"Why do the people I love keep dying?"

"People live, people die. That's the way of things. The natural order of things," Santini sighed raggedly. "You can't change it. You can't fight it."

He took the young man's face in his gnarled old hands then and gently put him away from him so that he could look into his tear streaked face.

"And, you can't let it stop you from loving, and accepting love in return, String. You can't let it make you afraid to love. You can't let it make you bitter and cold and unfeeling. If you do that, then you will end up dying too. Inside. One little piece at a time," Santini told him with a sad, earnest expression on his face. "Nobody lives forever, String. We just have to make the most of what time we have. Make the most of the people that we love, the time we are allowed with them."

Hawke nodded mutely now, fresh tears streaming down his face.

"I'm not a particularly religious guy, String, but, I do believe in God, and that he has a purpose for all of us. We may not always like it, or understand it, but, I do believe that things happen in life, for a purpose. Your meeting Ginny at this time, there was a reason for it. I think you were meant to meet her, to love her in these last few days. Maybe this was never about you? Maybe it was all for Ginny all along, to make her passing easier," Santini reasoned, but he could see from the young man's expression that he did not believe it.

"At least she'll die knowing that you loved her. _**Really**_loved her."

"She shouldn't have to die at all!" Hawke protested, wrestling out of Santini's grip now.

"No," Santini agreed.

"And, I'm not just going to sit around and wait for it to happen!" Hawke rose sharply from his seat now, dashing his tears away as he began to pace up and down the corridor, Santini watching with a heavy heart.

"I can't just sit back and watch her die, Dominic! I have to do something!"

Hawke stopped dead in his tracks then and turned mournful blue eyes on Santini.

"And, I need your help too, Dominic. So, ok, you're not Ginny's father, but, if, you know anything, _**anything**_at all, about who he might be, you have to tell me. He was a military guy, right? Must be drawing a pension some place? Just give me a name, Dom, and I'll call Michael and ask him to get his people on to it."

"String …."

"He won't mind. Oh yeah, sure, he'll blow a little smoke …."

"String …."

"You were there, Dominic! You must remember the names of the guys you were serving with! It's a place to start."

"String, I can't help you. I don't remember," Santini dropped his eyes then, unable to watch the young man's anguish and turmoil any longer.

"C'mon Dom, you remember every little detail, of every damned mission you and Dad flew over Germany in 1943, you must remember something about Korea!"

"String, please …."

"What is it, Dom? What is it? You know something, don't you?" Hawke's tone took on an accusatory note now.

"I don't."

"What is it you're not telling me, Dominic? You know who he is, don't you? You know who Ginny's real father is, don't you!" Hawke demanded harshly now.

Dominic Santini remained stubbornly silent, but something in his expression must have betrayed him to the younger man.

"Tell me!" Hawke demanded again. "Dammit, Dominic, please! Tell me! For God's sake, the woman I love, a beautiful, talented, intelligent, funny, vibrant, loving, amazing young woman, is lying in that room down there, _**dying**_** !** If you know anything about her father, _**anything**_at all that will help us to find him, help us to find out if he is a match to donate bone marrow, you _**have**_ to tell me! For pity's sake, Dominic!" Hawke pleaded, but still Santini remained silent. "God dammit!"

Anger finally got the better of Stringfellow Hawke, blazing out of control in a flash as intense as the magnesium in one of the Sunbursts Airwolf carried in her defence, and before he could rein it in again, Hawke had grabbed Dominic Santini by the lapels and was hauling him to his feet, pushing him roughly across the corridor, and pinning him up against the wall, his forearm pressed across the older man's throat.

"String!" Santini gasped, trying to drag air into his lungs.

"Tell me, Dominic!"

"I don't know," Santini choked out.

"You _**do**_know! I can see it in your eyes. Now tell me!"

"Let go of me!" Santini snarled between gasps for breath, pushing back against Hawke's strong arms now. "You don't wanna do this, kid. You really don't wanna do this!" he warned.

"Do what, Dominic? For God's sake, what do you know? What is it you're not telling me? A name, Dominic, that's all I want. Is it really so hard? Just give me a name."

"Hawke, I'm warning you …."

"You're in no position to warn any one, old man," Hawke seethed, taking still more huge handfuls of Santini's clothes, and dragging him across the corridor to smash him hard up against the opposite wall.

"Now you tell me what you know old man, or I'll break your back," Hawke stuck his face up close to Santini's, breathing hard, as he glowered up into the old man's anguished face.

"Go ahead. If, it'll make you feel better," Santini gasped breathlessly.

"A name, Dominic. I _**know**_ you _**know**_. So tell me!" Hawke jammed his forearm tightly against the old man's windpipe for emphasis.

"I can't …."

"You don't have any other choice, Dominic!"

"Don't do this, String. _**Please!**_ Don't make me do this!"

"I won't ask again, Dom. Next time I'll beat it out of you!"

"Then you gotta do, what you gotta do …."

"For God's sake, Dominic!"

In complete despair, Stringfellow Hawke roughly let go of Santini's clothes and striding angrily down the corridor, finally span around and slammed his balled fist into the unyielding wall, then uncaring of the pain that was now wracking his hand and wrist, he marched back toward where Dominic Santini was bending forward, breathing hard.

"Give me a name, Dominic! A name. Tell me who he is. I know you know who he is! Just give me a name, and I'll get out of your face. Who is it you're trying to protect?"

"You, kid," Santini gasped out on a low, breathy voice. "_**You!**_"

He slumped forward and fell heavily to his knees now, burying his face in his hands as scalding tears fell unhindered down his ashen face, and harsh sobs convulsed his body.

Stringfellow Hawke watched in horror as Dominic Santini's body curled in on its self and he wept loudly and bitterly into his hands.

He wanted to go to him, but he was still too damned angry, the inferno of rage still making his chest tight, his fists itch to connect with something, and his brain burn with fever.

Until at last Dominic's words finally penetrated the red mist that was swirling around his brain.

_**You, kid. You ….**_

Hawke strode purposefully back up the corridor, his right hand throbbing now after its forceful collision with the wall, and standing in front of the hunched figure of Dominic Santini, his jaw set in a rigid line and the muscles along his jaw line working feverishly, he said, "I think you owe me an explanation."

"I'd rather die," Santini sobbed.

"Why do you need to protect me, Dominic?"

"Leave me the hell alone!"

"Get up! Look at me! Stand up and face me, like a man, Dominic. Say whatever it is you have to say."

"You don't wanna hear it."

"Maybe not, but I think I _**have**_ to …."

Hawke bent down now and grabbing the top of Santini's arm, roughly, hauled him to his feet.

"Now you talk to me, old man, and I want the truth. Why are you trying to protect me? Just who the hell _**is **_Ginny's father? If, you're _**not?**_"

"No, I can't …."

"_**Tell me**_**!" **

Hawke shoved the old man roughly back against the wall once more and leaned all of his weight against him, holding him flat against the wall so that he could not move.

"Tell me who her father is!" he snarled, his normally handsome features twisted into a grotesque mask now.

"Steven!" Santini choked out at last on another anguished sob, hot tears streaming down his face now as he looked at Stringfellow Hawke with eyes filled with so much pain and sorrow and regret and betrayal and despair, Stringfellow Hawke thought his own heart would break on the spot. "Stev …. Steven …." Santini choked out again.

"Steven?" Hawke's jawed dropped open in astonishment. "Steven Hawke? My father, Steven Hawke?"

Dominic Santini could no longer speak, he was so beside himself with grief and misery and despair.

"You're telling me, my father …. _**My**__**father**_** ….** Is, Ginny's father? That she is, my sister!" Hawke's voice was going up the scale with anger and disbelief now, rising in both pitch and volume. "You're saying …. _**My father**_** ….** My father and …. Eve Archer …."

Dominic Santini could only nod weakly.

"You're a liar!" Stringfellow Hawke's fist suddenly came flying at Santini's face, finding its mark against his chin with a loud crack. "You're a liar!" Hawke raged, raising his fist to take aim once more, only to suddenly find strong arms holding him back, and hauling him off Dominic Santini, who continued to look at him like a broken man.

"Mr Hawke! Mr Santini! For God's sake, there are sick people here!"

The young doctor, looking completely baffled by the scene he had walked in on, dragged Hawke away from the older guy, certain as he did so that if the younger man broke free, he would kill Santini, such was the ferocity of his anger.

"You're a goddamned liar!" Hawke was still screaming at Santini, as he struggled to get out of the young medics grasp.

"I'm sorry," Santini sobbed brokenly. "So sorry, son."

"I'm not_**your**_**,** son!" Hawke hissed. "Don't call me that! Don't _**ever**_call me that again. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."

There was such calmness and intensity in Hawke's voice now, his body held rigid and defiant, as he glared angrily at Dominic Santini, the older man did not doubt that Hawke meant every word he said.

"Mr Hawke?"

Hawke finally shrugged the young doctor's hands off of his shoulders, and straightening his clothes, he glared back down the corridor at Dominic Santini one last time, before drawing in a deep breath and turning back to the doctor.

"I'm sorry. I'm ok now," he assured the dumbstruck younger man, then turned on his heel and walked angrily down the corridor to finally disappear inside Ginny McBride's room, leaving Dominic Santini staring after him, weeping silently, while the young doctor tried to get a better look at the huge bruise that was beginning to form on the old man's slightly whiskered jaw.

Stringfellow Hawke sank down in the chair beside Ginny McBride's bed and buried his face in the cool, crisp linen sheets, finally giving into his grief.

Dominic Santini's words still echoing in his ears.

Still seeing the look of utter betrayal, and despair on his beloved old face.

_**Oh God ….**_

_**It couldn't be true!.**_

_**It couldn't!**_

And yet, it all began to make sense to Hawke, at last.

Dominic's recent uncharacteristic, behaviour.

His unusual anger, and reluctance to open up to the younger man.

His irrational anger at learning that the two young people had become lovers.

_**His sister!**_

Was it possible?

His sister?

No, dammit!

He would never believe it.

Never!

Not of his own father.

Steven Hawke would never have done something like that.

He would never have betrayed his wife and sons like that.

Would never have betrayed his closest, dearest friend, Dominic Santini like that.

He wouldn't.

Hawke simply refused to believe it.

But, he also knew that Dominic Santini would not lie to him either.

Santini had begged him not to make him say it, because, he could not, **wo**_**uld not**_, lie to him.

Not about that.

_**I would rather die!**_ Santini had said, and Hawke knew that it was true.

The old man would rather die than tarnish the memory of the man he had loved like a brother, in the eyes of that man's son.

_**Oh God !**_

He needed time to think.

Time to calm down.

To recover his composure, and his wits.

For he would need both, when he faced Dominic Santini once again.

And, he knew that he would have to.

If, he was ever going to get to the truth.

No matter how hard.

No matter how distasteful or unbelievable.

Dominic Santini was the only one left who could give him the truth he sought.

For Ginny's sake.

Because, if he really _**was **_her brother, then, he might just turn out to be a suitable bone marrow donor, and be able to save his sister's life.


	11. Chapter 11

"Guessed I'd find you here," Stringfellow Hawke deliberately kept his voice low, in respect of his surroundings, the hospital chapel, and the only logical place he knew where to look for Dominic Santini, after ascertaining that the old man's jeep was still in the hospital parking lot.

It was the most logical and obvious place to look.

Not because of its religious significance, but because it was the one place Santini could be guaranteed the peace and quiet he needed to pull himself together, and decide what he was going to tell Hawke when he came looking for him.

For Santini knew the young man well enough to know that he would.

"Come to finish what you started?" Santini asked in a solemn voice, his face grey and drawn, his eyes still filled with pain and betrayal.

"Let's go for a drive," Hawke invited succinctly. "We'll use your wheels."

"Busted, huh." Santini pointed toward Hawke's right hand, which he was holding in a protective manner against his side.

"Probably."

"Should get someone to take a look at it. Get it X rayed," Santini suggested.

"Maybe later."

"You got some place in mind?" Santini asked cautiously as he followed Hawke out of the quiet solitude of the chapel.

"Just drive."

Without further comment, Hawke strode purposefully out of the hospital's main entrance into the parking lot, followed by Dominic Santini.

Both men climbed into the Santini Air jeep and Dominic backed out of the parking space, then, guided the jeep out onto the highway, heading for the secluded spot on the coast where he and the Hawke brothers had gone to fish and surf and have fun on long, hot, sultry summer days.

Hawke guessed their destination, when he noted the route Dominic was taking, and he wasn't surprised.

It was as good a place as any to talk.

He sat in stone faced silence, nursing his aching hand and wrist, hanging on to the pain and his anger as a way to keep him self focused on what was to come, and remained seated in the passenger seat of the jeep when Santini brought it to a halt in the dunes, and slid out, stretching his aching back carefully, and turning his face briefly up to the last weak rays of the sun as it sank slowly toward the distant horizon.

"Talk," Hawke slid out of the jeep at last and came to stand in front of Santini.

"What do you want me to say, String?" Santini let out a ragged sigh, adjusting his baseball cap on his head now, feeling uncomfortable under the young man's cold and brutally unrelenting glare.

"The truth."

"Oh, nothing simple then …."

"Dominic," Hawke's tone held a warning.

"You have no idea what you're asking."

"I'm asking you to explain. Giving you a chance, to explain."

"Before you beat the crap out of me again, huh? Oh, I forgot, busted your hand. Maybe the old man don't have a glass jaw after all?" Santini taunted now, almost as though he were inviting the younger man to lay another punch on him.

Because, that would be easier to deal with than the ordeal he knew was surely coming.

Physical pain was preferable to the heartache Santini knew both men had in store.

"I've got another hand. That's all I'd need to deal with you, old man," Hawke warned in a low voice.

"Go ahead," Santini invited. "Make good on your promise to kill me."

"You think I wouldn't?"

"I know you _**could**_**..** But you won't. You want something from me first."

"So give me what I want."

"I can't."

"Liar."

"So you keep saying."

"Don't mess with me, Dominic! I'm not in the mood."

"Yeah. So I see."

"So tell me …."

"Tell you what exactly?"

"The truth!"

"Who's truth? Yours? Mine? Steven's?" Santini mocked now. "You're just like him you know. Every bit your father's son. Hot headed, quick to jump to conclusions. Always had to be right. He knocked me on my ass too. Threatened to break my neck …."

"Why would he do that? Huh? If, you were such good friends?" Hawke demanded, surprised to hear this new piece of information from Santini. All his life, the only way he had ever heard Dominic Santini talk about his father was with love and affection, pride and reverence and happiness.

"And now, I see history repeating its self," Santini let out a ragged sigh, ignoring Hawke's question and his pointed looks.

"Why would he do that, Dominic? He was your best buddy."

"Oh yeah, that he was. I loved Steven Hawke like a brother. I loved that guy like I've never loved any thing, or any one in my whole life. Except you. And look at us now? You, standing there, with murder in your heart, and in your eyes. Well, go ahead, son. Oh, I forgot, you don't want me to call you that anymore. Well, go ahead, kid. Take your best shot. Kill me. I'd rather be dead than have you make me sully your father's memory."

"All I want is the truth, Dominic," Hawke sighed, drawing in a deep, ragged breath. "Just tell me what you know."

"What I know? Hell, String, I don't _**know**_anything! Not for sure."

"Then what makes you think that my father, is Ginny's father?" Hawke demanded impatiently.

"_**She**_ told me …."

"Ginny?"

"No. Eve."

"She told you that she was having an affair with my father?"

"Not in so many words. She told me that she'd met someone else, that she'd fallen in love. She hinted that it was Steven. She knew how close we were. She taunted me, with her foul innuendos, that he'd had to have what _**I'd**_ had! And that, he was so much better at it than me, too!"

Santini was breathing hard now, as he began to pace up and down in the loose sand at the foot of the dunes.

"But, when I confronted Steven, when I asked him, out right, he knocked me down on my ass, and told me never to speak to him of it again. Said he'd kill me, if I ever asked him about it again. I never saw him so mad. Not before, or since."

"He didn't deny it though?"

"Of course he did! Later. A long time later. He swore to me that he hadn't laid a hand on Eve, that he would rather die than cheat on Connie, but …."

"But, you didn't believe him?"

"I saw the way he looked at her. Eve Archer. I saw the way he acted around her. Protective. Always jumping to her defence. Never wanting to hear a word against her. It ate me alive for the rest of our damned tour in Korea. And, it took Steven and me years to patch things up properly. Years later, I finally plucked up enough courage to ask him, once and for all, and he swore to me String, on yours and St Johns' lives. He swore that there was nothing between him and Eve. So, I had to accept that he was telling me the truth."

"But, despite that, all these years, you really believed _**her**_! Believed that she betrayed you, with your best friend. Your best buddy. Your blood brother." Hawke sneered.

"I tried hard not to, but, I guess, deep down inside …. He was a man, String. Just a man. Flesh and bone and blood, like all the rest of us," Santini sighed wearily then, as though all the fight had suddenly gone out of him.

"Just an ordinary Joe, prone to the same needs and weaknesses we all are. You know what it's like, in the middle of a war zone, lost and alone and so far from the things that really matter. A man will seek comfort any place he can. You know that. You must have seen it Vietnam. Steven Hawke was no different to the rest of us."

"And yet, you've spent all these years building him up to be some sort of God in my eyes!"

"He was my friend, and I loved him," Santini said simply. "And he was your father. I didn't want anything to spoil your memories of him String, because, I knew that they were all you would have of him for the rest of your life. _**My**_ friend. _**Your father**_. Steven Hawke, to me, he _**was **_a kind of a god. He was everything that I wanted to be. The best damned friend a man could ever ask for! He was a good man, String. He didn't deserve to lose everything precious in his life, because of one slip. One moment of weakness …."

"How long have you known?"

"I already told you, I don't _**know**_ nothing, for sure!"

"How long, Dominic?"

"How long have I known that she might be Steven's child?" Hawke nodded then. "Not until the doctor back there told me the results of the paternity test. Up until then, I'd hoped, wanted, believed, prayed, wished, with all my heart, that she was _**my**_ daughter, because, I knew, if she wasn't mine …. Then there was a strong possibility that, she might be _**his**_."

"Still think he's such a good friend?" Hawke sneered again now.

"Yes," Santini confirmed simply in a soft voice. "Yes. I forgave him a long time ago, String. I had to. I didn't want to lose his love and friendship. Just like I didn't want to lose your love, and friendship. That's why I was trying to protect you."

"You're a better friend than he deserved, Dominic."

"Don't say that!"

"I don't think I could have done what you did, all those years. If I could have lived with what he did to you."

"We don't know that he _**did**_anything! But, _**if **_he did, it was all _**her**_ doing. Not his. All Eve's doing. I know what she was like. Bewitching. Beguiling. Manipulative. Demanding. She would have pulled out all the stops to get what she wanted, String."

Santini paused briefly to draw in a ragged breath before continuing.

"I forgave him. And, you will have to learn to forgive him too. None of us are perfect, String. Not you, not me, not Steven. But, it doesn't change the fact that your father was a good man, a kind, generous, brave, loving, wonderful husband, father and friend …."

"And you're still defending him."

"Yes. Till the day I die! Because, I still love him. I still miss him. Every day, dammit! Every time I see your face, I see him too. I see him in you. Your moods. Your mannerisms. You're just like him."

Santini's voice caught in his throat now and he hung his head briefly, closing his eyes against the tears he felt stinging there.

"And no matter how angry you might be with him right now, String, it doesn't change who he was. If …. If he and Eve Archer …."

"If he did cheat on my mother!" Hawke supplied the words Santini was struggling to get out now, on a sneer.

"If he did, and I'm not saying that he did, it doesn't change the man he was. The man you remember. And love. And. something good came from it."

"You think!" Hawke spat at him in disgust now.

"Yeah. I think. I _**know**_. You can't see it right now, because, you're too damned angry, but, yeah, something good came out of it," Santini paused then to draw in a long, ragged breath. "Ginny." this drew a sharp look from Hawke now. "Your sister."

"Yeah, God dammit! My _**sister**_**!** The woman I _**fell in love with**_**,** Dominic! How the hell could you stand by, and _**let**_me fall in love with own sister!"

"That ain't fair, String!" Santini shot back at him now. "I didn't know! I didn't know about the two of you, how close you were becoming. You'd only just met her for God's sake! I'm not a mind reader. You were barely speaking to me. How was I supposed to know you'd …."

"Made love with her, for God's sake, Dominic! I made love with her! I made love with my own sister! How the hell do I live with that? How the hell do I ever reconcile myself with that!"

"She might not be," Santini reminded weakly. "But. love is, love …."

"Not like that!" Hawke raged. _"__**Not like that**__! _It has a name, Dominic, a not very nice name. It's called incest."

He turned his back on Santini then, before he gave into the desperate need to grind the old man's face into the sand, clenching his fists at his side, only to wince as he felt the sharp pain in his right hand once more.

"How long would you have waited before you finally told me, Dominic? As I as stood at the top of the aisle, waiting for my lovely bride to arrive on our wedding day?" Hawke spat as he span around to confront the older man once again.

"I hoped I would never have to tell you at all," Santini sighed. "And God knows, I would do anything to make it not true."

"Even go on pretending that she was your daughter?"

"Yeah. Even that. If it meant that you were happy, that your memory of Steven was kept pure."

"But, it isn't true, Dominic!"

"Yes it is. The man you remember …."

"Isn't who he _**really **_was!" Hawke shot back scornfully.

"You're wrong, String. The man you remember. That man loved you and your brother and your mother more than he loved his own life. None of this changes that."

"You really believe that?"

"Yes."

"Then you're dumber than you look, old man!"

Hawke marched around the front of the jeep and climbed back into the passenger seat.

"Drive!" He ordered, as Santini slid into the driver's seat beside him a few seconds later.

"String …."

"Drive."

"What are you going to do?" Santini asked as he put the key into the ignition and turned the engine over.

"Find out the truth. Once, and for all."

Back at Good Shepherd hospital, both men sat in uncomfortable silence, one at each end of the corridor that ran outside Ginny McBride's room, neither acknowledging the other's presence, until at last, unable to bear it any longer, Dominic Santini returned to the hospital chapel, seeking sanctuary and solitude.

He lit a candle and knelt stiffly at the alter table, crossing himself and bowing his head, as he offered up a silent prayer, then he rose awkwardly and sank down wearily in to the nearest pew.

_**Lord, but it had been a long day.**_

And it wasn't over yet.

Not by a long shot.

_**This one ranked up there as one of the worst days of his life ….**_

Along side the day his mother had died ….

And, the day he had heard about the boating accident on Eagle Lake, that had claimed the lives of Connie and Steven Hawke, and almost claimed the life of young Stringfellow.

He'd almost gained a daughter.

And he had almost certainly lost a son.

Stringfellow Hawke.

His relationship with the young man would never be the same again.

As he had known.

_**Christ, life was so damned unfair some times!**_

_**As if just living from day to day wasn't hard enough!. Why did loving people have to make it more complicated?**_

_**Throw love into the mix and you definitely had a recipe for disaster.**_

_**Maybe Hawke had the right idea after all ….**_

_**Shutting love out of your life, hardening your heart, maybe that was the answer to the meaning of life?**_

_**Don't love or let your self be loved.**_

_**You lived longer that way!**_

Yet, even as these thoughts raced through his mind, Dominic Santini knew that he loved the young man as deeply as he ever had.

That he loved Steven Hawke as deeply as he ever had. And always would.

They were as much a part of him as his hot Latin temperament and his love of flying.

But after today, nothing would ever be the same again.

Some times, not even love was enough to mend some rifts.

He should be sitting up there, beside Hawke, supporting him as he waited for the results of the blood tests that the doctor had taken, to see if he was a match with Ginny McBride, but the young man had shut him out, deliberately, refusing to look at him, or even acknowledge his presence.

As far as Hawke was concerned, they had nothing left to say to each other.

Nothing left between them. Period.

Santini hung his head and let the tears flow freely, knowing that if anyone should enter the chapel they would think that he was praying, and that no-one would bother him.

However, after hearing the soft squeak of the door as it opened, and waiting for several seconds to hear it click shut once more, Santini finally raised his head and glanced backward, wondering if the priest had maybe come in to ask him to leave so that he could get ready for a service.

Stringfellow Hawke stood in the doorway, his right hand encased in fresh white plaster of Paris and his face a rigid emotionless mask.

"Dr Cook just told me he has the lab results back," Hawke said in a flat voice. "He'll see us both in fifteen minutes."

"Both of us?"

"Yeah. I want you there. I want you to hear what he has to say. You're involved in this as much as I am."

"String …."

"Let's not keep him waiting."

"God forbid!" Santini muttered raising his eyes heavenward as he heard the chapel door click shut behind Stringfellow Hawke.

"Mr Hawke. Mr Santini," Dr Michael Cook regarded each man warily, as though he were worried they might start throwing punches at each other again, and he might accidentally get caught in the crossfire.

"You got the results back?" Hawke demanded gruffly.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And, I'm afraid you're not a match either, Mr Hawke."

"I'm not?" Hawke sounded both surprised and disappointed, and Dominic Santini dropped his head for a moment, unable to bear the look that settled on the younger man's face, or accept what the news meant for poor Ginny McBride.

"No. I'm sorry."

"But …."

"The test is conclusive, Mr Hawke. Your blood type is O negative, and Miss McBride is B positive. There is no way you would be a suitable donor."

"But I thought …." Hawke faltered then, dropping his head in his hands, all the fight suddenly draining out of him, as he realised that his one last hope to save Ginny had turned to dust.

"We thought that there was a chance that she might be his sister," Dominic Santini stepped in now, when words failed Hawke.

"Oh? But I thought …."

"We only just found out."

"Could she be my sister?" Hawke dragged his gaze back up to look the doctor squarely in the eye now.

"Well," Cook let out a deep sigh. "I have to say, that I doubt it very much, Mr Hawke."

"Wouldn't the blood tests be able to tell for sure?" Hawke demanded gruffly now.

"You mean a DNA test?"

"Sure. Whatever."

"We use Mitochondrial DNA, to determine family relationships, Mr Hawke. That's DNA from the mother."

"We have different mother's," Hawke offered.

"Then a DNA test wouldn't be of much help."

"Is there any way to find out, for sure?" Hawke demanded again. "I _**need**_ to know."

"Well, let me see, a little basic high school biology might help. Do you know what blood type your father was?"

"O Negative," this came from Dominic Santini now.

"You're sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. I fought along side Steven Hawke in two wars. Knew his tags as well as I knew my own. Name, rank, serial number, and blood group. We all had to know it. Basic survival," Santini explained and Hawke knew that he was right.

Things hadn't changed much when he had shipped out to Vietnam. Every soldier was required to know their blood type, in case they were wounded and they lost their tags.

That one simple piece of information could save a soldiers life on a battlefield.

"Besides, Steven Hawke's blood type was the same as mine. O Negative. I gave him a little of mine in '44, and he gave me a lot of his in '51, when I took a round in the shoulder, in Korea."

This drew a surprised look from Stringfellow Hawke.

Something else he had never heard from the old man before.

So, he and Steven Hawke had truly been blood brothers after all.

"I asked Miss McBride's permission to request her mother's medical history and she agreed. I checked Mrs McBride's records, and her blood group was also O Negative. So, that means, Ginny can only have gotten her blood type from her father. A man with blood type B positive."

"Not Dominic? And, not my Dad?"

"No."

"So, she's not my sister?"

"No, Mr Hawke. I'm afraid Ginny is not your sister."

"What happens now?" Hawke asked after a lengthy silence while he and Dominic Santini took in what the doctor had just told them, and its implications.

"We carry on as we are. Blood transfusions," Dr Cook let out a soft sigh of resignation then. "We make her comfortable."

"How long?"

"A few days."

"And, there's nothing else that you can do?" There was a crack of emotion in Hawke's voice now.

"I'm sorry," Cook shook his head sadly and watched as Stringfellow Hawke rose swiftly from his seat and left the room without a backward glance.

"Thanks, doc," Dominic Santini rose slowly from his seat and offered the young medic his hand. "We know you're doing your best for her. Thank you," and with that, he too left the doctor's office, without a backward glance, knowing that his place now was beside Stringfellow Hawke, even if the young man resented his being there.

He shouldn't be alone at a time like this.

And Dominic Santini was determined to be a father to the young man, one last time.

Dominic Santini found Stringfellow Hawke just a little ways down the corridor, standing outside Ginny McBride's hospital room, head bent, shoulder sagging, and his arms hanging limply down by his sides, and Dominic Santini knew that tears were not very far away, but, that left to his own devices, the young man would fight them down and shove them away somewhere where he didn't have to deal with them, and then up would go his chin, and the defiance and determination would return to his eyes, and another pain would be stored in his heart, just waiting to surprise him with a coronary maybe twenty years down the line.

Knowing that he was risking yet another knock down fight in the hospital corridor with the younger man, Dominic Santini strode quickly and purposefully up behind the young man, and without giving him time to protest, or even think about it, span him around and pulled him roughly into the strong circle of his embrace.

Startled and no longer able to control his feelings, Stringfellow Hawke gave into instinct, and allowed himself to lean heavily into the older man's barrel chest, to savour the sensation of his strong, sure, loving old arms as they came around him, and held him tightly, as the dry sobs wracked his body and he dropped his head down on to Santini's substantial shoulder.

Neither man spoke.

There was no need.

Each knew without the need for long speeches what was in the other's heart.

They were in perfect harmony.

Spent at last, Stringfellow Hawke lifted his head from the older man's shoulder, and realising that the moment was over, Dominic dropped his arms from around the younger man's back and waited for him to draw away.

As they parted, Stringfellow Hawke could not mistake the questioning look on the older man's face.

_**Where do we stand now?**_

_**Did we say too much?**_

_**Go too far?**_

_**Do you really understand what I was trying to do?**_

_**Can you ever forgive me?**_

Hawke closed his eyes and drew in a deep, refreshing breath, then opened his eyes, and looked back at Santini with an expression that was meant to convey to him that it was the younger man who had said too much, overstepped the mark and gone too far.

That he knew he was the one who should be asking for forgiveness.

"Why did he do it, Dominic? Why did Dad risk losing your friendship and allow you to go on believing that he had betrayed you with the woman you loved?"

"Because he was my friend, but, ya see, he wasn't just _**my**_ friend, String. There were a lot of guys out there. Young guys, foolish guys who could only think of living for the day, because tomorrow, tomorrow, they might be gone. I figure Steven knew who the guy was, that he was someone in our squadron, maybe even some young punk under his command. I figure Steven knew the kind of woman Eve Archer was, and decided to protect him, and he knew that our friendship was strong enough to withstand the strain. That we cared enough about each other, to forgive, if not forget."

Hawke took a moment to think about Santini's words, and then nodded mutely in acceptance.

"So?" he spoke in a low voice a few minutes later, shamefaced and feeling emptier than he had ever felt in his life, just now beginning to contemplate just how lonely and bleak and meaningless his life would be without the old man in it.

"So?" Santini said back in an equally soft voice. "What do you want me to say, String?" he asked with a plea for understanding in his eyes. "I'm sorry that she's not your sister? I'm glad she's not your sister," Dominic let out a ragged sigh now, and saw a look of hurt return to his young friend's blue eyes. "Both would be true," he explained quickly.

This drew a puzzled frown from Hawke now.

"I'm sorry she's not your sister, because it means that you can't help her. Save her."

Santini's voice caught in his throat just for a moment as he caught the sadness and grief in the younger man's eyes, but carried on, needing to finish what he had set out to say.

"But, I'm glad that she's not your sister kid, because, that means that it's ok for you to love her. In the way you love her. Not as a brother loves a sister, but as a man loves a woman."

Hawke took a moment to digest what the old man had said, and then he nodded again, almost imperceptibly, in acceptance and understanding.

He turned his back on Santini then, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he took a small step toward Ginny McBride's hospital room, and then, opening his eyes, he turned back to look back at Dominic Santini once more.

He couldn't just leave it like that.

There was still something that he needed to know.

"Dom? About us?"

"What about us?" Santini asked, tilting his head slightly to one side to regard the young man with a softer look.

"Are we …. Are we going to be ok?"

"That would be up to you, String," Santini told him without hesitation. "Nothing has changed for me," he told him, with a weak smile forming on his lips now. "Nothing has changed the way I feel about you, kid. Oh yeah, we have our moments. Our up's, and downs. Who don't, huh? But, there is nothing, _**nothing**_**, **that you could do, or say, that would ever change the way that I feel. I love you. I always will. No matter what. I could not more stop loving you, than I could willingly stop breathing. Both would kill me. I love you, plain and simple. And I will always be there for you, String. As, a friend."

"I've always known that you love me, Dominic," despite his best efforts, Hawke's voice cracked with emotion then. "I guess I just never realised how much. Until now."

This time Dominic Santini nodded gently in silent understanding and acceptance of the young man's offered olive branch, then turned slowly away.

"You're not leaving?"

Hawke's words had the effect of stopping Dominic Santini dead in his tracks, and he turned around slowly to give the younger man a wary look.

"I thought," he mumbled. He'd felt sure that the young man wouldn't want him hanging around like a bad smell. He was usually very private about his emotions, not wanting even those closest to him to see him grieving.

"Now who's not using his head?" a half smile tugged at the corner of Hawke's lips now, and Santini felt his heart leap for joy in his chest.

"Huh?"

"Stay," Hawke said softly, then coughed to clear his throat and when he spoke again his voice was a little stronger, surer, more confident. "I'll need a ride home. Can't ride that motor cycle with this damned plaster on my arm," the smile spread slowly to the other side of his mouth now. "And maybe later, we could talk? _**Really**_ talk?"

"Sure," Santini smiled gently back at the younger man.

_**It would be ok.**_

They'd made a start at least.

Building those bridges Cait was always talking about.

Hawke had let down his defences and given Santini a tiny opening.

"Sure, kid! You want I should stay, I'll stay. You wanna talk, we'll talk, about anything you want. Like I said, I'm always here for you, kid."

"I know that, Dominic. I love you too. I guess it's time I told you just how much."

"No need, son. I already know. Now, go on," Santini indicated with a slight movement of his head toward Ginny McBride's hospital room then. "Every minute you have with her is precious. Don't waste a second. I'll be right here. When you're ready."

Stringfellow Hawke nodded gently and blessed the older man with a truly warm and genuine smile, before drawing in a long, calming breath and reaching out to open Ginny's door, then disappeared quietly inside, thinking as he closed the door behind him and took up the seat beside Ginny's bed, taking Ginny's small hand in his, and smiling loving at her, as he realised that she was awake and smiling happily up at him in return, that maybe Dominic Santini had been right when he had said that everything in life happened for a purpose. A reason.

Maybe this had happened at this moment in his life, to test him?

And, to show him how truly lucky, blessed, he was, to have the unconditional love and true friendship of a good man like Dominic Santini.

Just as, his father before him had.


End file.
